


One More Time Again

by rougeandtonic



Series: One More Time Again [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (of sorts), (sort of), A ridiculous amount of cuddling, Angst, Brief and mostly off-screen Louis/other, Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Harry/Liam friendship, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, Small mention of past Harry/others, Smut, The X Factor Era, Time Travel, music industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 232,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougeandtonic/pseuds/rougeandtonic
Summary: Harry looks down to where Louis is cradling his hand between his own. Louis' hands are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. The 2-8 on the backs of his fingers is gone, but the faded scar from a skateboarding mishap in Year 7 is still there.Harry's hand is awkward, knobby-boned and naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet it still somehow fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always did.He blinks back the sting in his eyes.On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right.A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).





	1. PART ONE - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [One More Time Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228747) by [loueh__tommoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loueh__tommoo/pseuds/loueh__tommoo)



> Now complete!
> 
> This is canon compliant-ish. Meaning, it's quite canon compliant as far as the background of the 2010 X Factor goes including dates, performances, other contestants. More liberties have been taken in the future, especially from 2015 onward.
> 
> I wasn't comfortable using recent personal tragedies, especially since, with the time travel, they would have to be Plot Points. So as far as personal family lives go, assume no changes going forward from 2015.
> 
> I also didn't want to include details about people who are still children at the time of writing this. For example, all of Louis's siblings exist but only the eldest are named. And, significantly, no babies publicly linked to members of 1D exist in this fic.
> 
> As far as minor characters go, if they don't have a significant and intentional public persona -- and especially if they're being used as part of the plot -- I did change their names.
> 
> WARNING: please note the homophobia and internalized homophobia tags! there won't be any homophobic slurs or violence (there shouldn't be racist or misogynistic ones, either), but internalized homophobia is a significant plotline, so take care if that's triggering for you
> 
> Disclaimer: This is (obviously!) fiction. It's based on public personas and not intended to depict the personal lives of real people. It also isn't meant to reflect my personal thoughts on the past or present state of their personal relationships.

PART ONE

 _This is not the end_  
_This is not the end_  
\- "History" (One Direction, 2015)

Harry wakes to arms wrapped tight around his chest.

Save for the slow rise and fall of breathing, his bed partner isn't moving, so must not be awake yet. Harry hasn't been the little spoon in so, so long, and it just feels right to wake up and be safe, be held. To be not alone. So he can't be blamed for snuggling back into the embrace and letting drowsiness drag him back under.

It's the unmistakable press of a dick against his arse that has him blinking his eyes open against the morning light.

Even his sleep-blurred vision makes it clear he's not surrounded by the red-orange wallpaper of his New York apartment. He'd wonder if he'd fallen asleep in James' Hilton suite, but that is definitely not James Corden in bed with him.

Fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut again. It's been so long since he's done this. Months, at least. It's his second night at MSG today and he can't — He was sure he'd fallen asleep to the telly in the background. How drunk must he have been when he left James? 

He'll phone Sarah, he decides. All he'll have to do is keep the guy whose bed he's in from leaving, or making Harry leave, until she gets here with the NDAs to sign.

Sarah won't be happy but it's better than having to face Jeff and confess he'd been blind-drunk in the middle of the most important stop of his tour.

God, he hopes he hadn't given the guy a blowjob. It's probably a futile hope, but they always leave him hoarse and he can't afford—

He can't afford any of this, really.

Harry rubs his eyes and reaches out blindly for anything that feels like a phone. At the movement, the man behind him makes a sleepy discontented sound and tightens his hold on him. Harry can feel the man's forehead against his shoulder, warm breath over his bare back. Maybe contacting Sarah can wait a little longer. It's not like the man's going anywhere right now. And, anyways, they'd worked out all the technical stuff before the first performance. Harry doesn't have to be back at the stadium until late.

So he relaxes back into the man's arms. The man makes a more contented sound now. The higher pitch sounds almost like — no. Harry's not letting his mind do this to him. Except it gets harder to stop himself from making the comparison when he strokes his fingers down the other man's forearm and finds wiry muscle and smooth hair and a narrow wrist —

But Harry's been through this with himself. He can either compare every man he's with for the next fifty years to the man he's going to love for at least that long.

Or he can just — not. Not do that.

He's sure the guy who he went home with last night is lovely. He just needs to see that it's not the person he is resolutely not thinking about and it will all be okay.

So he turns in the man's arms and finally opens his eyes all the way.

He scrambles back.

And then yelps when there's no 'back' to scramble to.

He doesn't know what comes first: the impact or the high confused-panicked "Harry?". But the next thing he knows, he's splayed on his back in a pile of clothing of, okay, questionable cleanliness, and he's staring up from between two bunk beds. Three pairs of eyes — no, there's another bed, make that four pairs of eyes — are on him.

One of the pairs is comically wide under bleach-blond hair and their owner is saying, "Harry, wha—?". The boy's half-laughing like he thinks it might be a joke but he's not awake enough to tell.

Another pair of eyes, dark under frowning brows, is blinking sleepily at him. Their owner sits up in bed and his blanket shifts down the angles of his shoulders. 

Another pair of eyes belongs, incongruously, to a young floppy-haired Liam look-alike who is rushing to his side, asking, "What happened? Are you all right?"

The final pair of eyes are the ones Harry woke up to. Their owner has jumped off the bed and is kneeling next to him and grabbing at his hands.

"H, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry says slowly. "I think so."

He reaches up and pushes soft hair off the boy's forehead with his fingers.

"I miss your eyes the most," Harry tells him.

The boy's lips part, but it's the Liam-lookalike's worried voice that demands, "Do you know where you are? Or who we are? What's your name, Harry?"

"You just said his name, you twat."

Suddenly a pale hand is shoved in his face and voice that sounds a lot like Niall's is demanding, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harry pushes the hand out of his face and struggles up to sit back against the offending bunk bed. 

"You all right, then?" the dark-eyed boy asks from the other bottom bunk. He's a young Zayn, hair all askew with yesterday's gel.

"I'm fine." Harry looks at the boys all around him, the mess of the room, the beds with brown blankets in varying degrees of disarray. It's disconcertingly familiar.

She'd said, "Eight years" and he'd said yes without taking a moment to think. He'd known the offer couldn't have been real and he'd shoved the possibility of it into the back of his mind, the box he named 'things I can't.'

He'd put it into the wrong box.

Obviously.

He looks up at the boys. Niall is looking fidgety, Liam's frowning at him, Zayn is already back in bed with the covers pulled over his head and Louis — Louis is crouched next to him, gripping his hand and staring at him under his soft fringe.

"M'fine," Harry mumbles. "Must've had, like, a bad dream or something."

"Waking up to Louis in the morning would've been enough to scare anyone," Niall says. He cackles when Louis flips him off and he starts to climb back into his own bunk.

Louis still hasn't taken his eyes off Harry. His voice is gentle as he tells him, "You're a right menace, you know that?"

Harry looks down at where Louis' hand is gripping his. His fingers are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. He's cradling Harry's larger hand in his. Harry's hand is knobby-boned, naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet his hand fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always has.

It leaves him feeling raw, splayed open. He blinks back the sting in his eyes.

"You sure you're all right?" Liam asks. Harry reluctantly takes his eyes off Louis and nods.

"I just need—"

He glances around the messy 'One Direction' X Factor room. He needs to think.

"I need a wee," he says.

 

 

Harry takes a good several minutes to stare into the mirror at round cheeks, spotty skin, sleep-messy curls and wide green eyes. He takes some small pride in at least not being so cliched as to pinch himself.

When he steps out of the en-suite the other boys are back in their beds, but Louis is waiting there, soft hair falling over his forehead.

"Hey." Harry ducks his head. He feels suddenly shy, unsure of himself. He's overwhelmed with so many feelings for this beautiful boy.

"Took long enough, Curly," Louis says and he shoves joggers and a t-shirt into Harry's arms.

Harry stares down at them. He's not sure who they belong to, but he's doesn't think they're his.

Louis pokes him in the shoulder and prompts him, "You're not allowed to walk around in your pants anymore, remember? If Wagner can't, no one can. It's a burden we all have to bear."

Harry thinks he should maybe have a cheeky reply to that, but he just can't right now.

"C'mon, hurry up," Louis says. "I'll make us a cuppa."

Harry can't stop staring at Louis. He knows he must look deranged. Niall had started calling it his serial killer look after reading some tweets from fans, and then Zayn had learned the word 'yandere' sometime during their first Japan tour.

But Louis doesn't seem bothered. He just reaches up his hand, rubs his thumb across Harry's cheek, and asks, "Not concussed, are you?"

Harry can't help but lean into Louis' touch. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

"Oh," Louis says. He turns to the bunk bed behind him. A brown duvet is half hanging off the top mattress. Clothes and suitcases are strewn over the bottom one, the one Harry recalls was technically Louis'. "We could go back t'bed."

It's tempting, but Harry's not confident he can handle that sort of proximity right now.

"No," Harry decides. "I want you to make me tea."

 

 

Harry watches as Louis puts the kettle on and throws a few slices of bread into the extra-large toaster.

Louis has his back to him. He's still wearing the faded United t-shirt and trackies he'd been sleeping in. Harry can't help but trail his eyes downward. He's gorgeous and curvy, all narrow waist and strong thighs.

And, yes, Louis had been painfully skinny by the end, and all Harry's used to seeing of him lately is in oversize t-shirts and hoodies through a TV screen. But Harry could live a hundred years and never forget how Louis' bum looks in trackies.

Louis reaches up into a cupboard for the teabags. The hem of his shirt rides up, revealing the smooth skin of his lower back.

Harry bites his lip.

"Woken up yet, love?" Louis asks as he turns back to him. He's smiling, eyes crinkling under the black frames of his glasses.

"Maybe after a cuppa," Harry says.

"Fair." Louis comes behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. Harry doesn't even have to slouch for Louis to rest his chin on his shoulder.

He lets his eyes drop closed, reveling in the warmth of the body surrounding him. Louis has always been his quietest in the morning. And they're alone in the kitchen, though Harry can hear conversations from the other room. He doesn't recognize the contestants by voice anymore. But, by the number of people he hears — and the fact that they passed Katie and Paije on their way down — he figures they must not be far into the live shows.

But he doesn't know if now is Before or After the stairwell.

The kettle clicks off and Louis extricates himself to prepare the tea. It's then that Harry catches a whiff of something burning.

"Lou, the toast!" Harry exclaims as he stumbles across the kitchen to snap up the lever on the toaster.

"Oh," is all Louis says as he glances over with a frown. "What happened?"

"Why is it set to max?" Harry asks as he starts extricating their poor ruined breakfast.

"So it would be done faster," Louis tells him. As if this is a perfectly logical explanation.

"That's not how toasters—never mind." Harry shakes his head. He knows better than to start this. Instead he just dials the toaster back down to a reasonable setting so the next person doesn't get a surprise.

 

 

The boys are all gathered the lounge later that morning. There are a couple of other contestants around, but the camera crew have long moved onto some other part of the house. Apparently, they're all waiting for a ride. Harry just doesn't know where to. 

Harry had followed Louis upstairs — after a proper breakfast that had, thankfully, been laid out for the contestants on the dining table — and thrown on the trousers and polo Louis had tossed him from one of the piles on the floor. The polo is white and unflattering and most likely Harry's own. The trousers are too big and buckle low on his hips and are, unfortunately, probably also his own.

Harry is never one to criticize how people dress. Especially not after everything he's heard said about his favorite flower-print Gucci suit. People should wear what makes them happy. But he decides he can make an exception for his younger self.

The nostalgia of getting to wear his old purple trainers, however, makes up for the rest of the outfit. He'd been mourning them ever since they went missing after an ill-considered prank on the X Factor tour.

In any case, Harry is dressed now and he's sitting on the carpet, between Louis' legs where Louis had situated him. Niall is sprawled on the sofa typing on his phone. And Liam is sitting at the other end flipping through papers with a frown of concentration on his face.

Zayn is sitting with a brown-haired girl in an oversized armchair. Harry thinks she's from Belle Amie but can't remember her name and he's been shamefully avoiding looking directly at her because of it.

He hates forgetting people's names.

He can't exactly whisper to another of the boys to ask who she is right now, either. Not like he normally would have when he'd forget which city they're in or whether he was supposed to take a left or a right down that hallway.

Actually, that does give him an idea.

"What day is it?" Harry blurts out. He hopes it won't be too suspicious a question.

And, apparently, it's not.

"Wednesday?" Niall asks, not sounding particularly confident.

"Thursday," Louis answers from behind Harry. He's toying with a stray thread on Harry's trousers with one hand and scrolling through some website on his phone with the other.

Liam sighs and says, "It's Friday."

"Nay, it's definitely Thursday," Louis says confidently. "We're going to meet Sandeep, remember?"

"We're going to meet Sandeep at _sound check_ ," Liam says, a note of irritation coming into his voice. "Which we are doing today, Friday."

"All right, Hazza," Louis says, voice warmer again as he addresses him. "We've established that none of us apparently knows what day it is."

"It's Friday," comes Zayn's sleep-irritable voice, from where he's resting, eyes-closed, against the brown-haired girl. One would think he's just rolled out of bed, except for how he's got eyeliner on and his hair is upswept in a feat that Harry knows takes him at least half an hour and industrial strength gel.

"Two votes for Friday, then," Louis says. He moves his hands to Harry's shoulders, where he begins to give him a distracted massage. "And since we're a modern democratic sort of boy band, that makes it Friday."

 

 

"You're late," the production assistant tells them as she rushes them backstage.

"It wasn't our fault," Liam says quickly. "The car was late. And then there was traffic."

She ignores him and says into her radio, "One Direction's finally here for 'She's the One'."

"Is Simon going to think we're not taking this seriously?" Liam asks, eyes darting around at the rest of the group. His hand is clenched, tense, on the papers he's been carrying.

"We're doing 'She's the One'?" Harry blurts out. "The song we're singing with Robbie?"

There are far too many contestants in the house for it to be time for their duet on the second-to-last-ever night.

"Robbie?" Louis teases as he pokes Harry's side. "Since when are you on first name term with Mr Williams himself?"

The truthful answer is, probably since they'd hung out half-drunk at an awards after-party. Well, Harry had been the half of them that was drunk, Robbie had mostly just been laughing at him. But Harry can't exactly explain all that to the boys right now.

Niall is still cackling at Louis and, god, he must be seventeen by now, older than Harry, but with that elfin hair and still-crooked teeth and boyish face he looks about half that. "That's a good one, Harry. Singing with Robbie Williams. Imagine us having a real professional singer in our group. We'd win for sure."

" _We're_ real singers," Zayn says grumpily.

"Come on," the harried assistant says. She picks up her pace as she ushers them through the maze of backstage hallways.

"Wait." Liam stops walking and turns narrowed eyes on Harry. "Did you seriously forget what song we're singing? How hard did you hit your head this morning?"

"'Course he didn't forget," Louis snaps. "Lay off. He was kidding, obviously."

"Er," Harry says. Niall's laughing again.

"Maybe you should review it just to be sure." Liam shoves his papers at Harry. And they are, in fact, tabs for 'She's the One'.

He wonders if he's traveled not just back in time but also to a slightly different dimension. Luckily Liam's marked up the papers not just with clumsy choreography diagrams but also with who's singing which parts. Harry doesn't have a solo, which, at the moment, is probably best for all involved.

Before he knows it, they're shoved onstage and surrounded by the old Fountain Studios auditorium.

 

 

"No," a not-so-gray Simon Cowell says when they finish their run-through. "It's not working."

Harry bites his lip. His voice isn't working quite like it should but he'd thought his parts were buried enough in the choruses to keep it from mattering. Though, to be fair, he'd messed up his choreography, too. He'd had to be patiently repositioned at least three times.

"They worked hard on this," Sandeep says. It's been years since Harry's seen him any closer than across the room at award shows. Now, he's standing next to Simon and Brian at the Judges' Desk and they both have their arms crossed.

There's a strange stilted tone to Sandeep's voice, like he's lying. But that doesn't make sense. Harry knows his own younger self, and knows the boys, and them working hard definitely would not have been a lie.

"It's no good." Simon shakes his head. There are multiple cameras on him for close-ups and Harry suddenly realizes that this is, in fact, not an alternate dimension. Just a storyline he'd forgotten about. Last time, he hadn't noticed how scripted it had been.

"We can make changes," Liam protests. "Whatever you need us to do."

"Yeah," Niall chimes in.

"Sorry, boys, it just isn't right for you. Fortunately, you have another song prepared, don't you?"

 

 

Luckily, once Liam starts his solo at the beginning of 'Nobody Knows', Harry's parts come back to him.

It's been years, but performing it over and over on the X Factor tour apparently gave him enough working memory of the song. His voice still isn't working like he's used to and he stumbles through a few of the lyrics but, at the end of their third run-through, Simon nods and tells them that it'll work.

Not only that, but, after Brian complains he doesn't have enough time to teach them new choreography, they're allowed to just stand in a group in the middle of the stage. There'll be no awkward dancing involved and it's not just Harry who visibly relaxes at learning that.

Louis asks what they should prepare as their backup song. Simon says not to worry about it, just to focus on their performance for Saturday. But Liam jumps in and protests that they need to be prepared for a sing-off if they're in the bottom two, so Simon finally says that 'She's the One' can be their backup.

But he also tells them they won't need it.

Afterwards, while the other contestants are going through their sound checks, Harry and the boys are made to film a quick interview for one of the camera crews. No one seems to mind when Harry skips the question about his favorite part of the week and just says how happy they are to be there.

Liam rounds them up and they get in some more practice in one of the dressing rooms, using hair spray bottles as microphones. This rapidly derails into Zayn and Louis dueling with hairspray until they're all coughing with it and they have to find a room with better ventilation.

They're herded back onstage to practice the group song together. The choreography's a big enough mess with all the contestants involved that Harry thinks it's a good thing they mime the group songs.

When they're done, it's announced that instead of going back to the house, all the contestants are going on a shopping trip.

At some point during all of this, Niall had obtained a purple-tinged mohawk. And so they end their day at Fountain Studios with Niall's head in the basin, Zayn and Liam scrubbing his hair while Louis tries to give Harry a beard of shampoo bubbles.

 

 

"I don't even have m'wallet," Niall complains in the car. They're in the last vehicle to leave Fountain Studios and the sun is setting as they make their way through London traffic.

"Me either," Zayn says. Harry doesn't have his, either, and he's not even sure where he'd find it in their mess of a room.

"What if I get hungry?" Niall worries, as if he hadn't just cleaned out the last of the food laid out for them at the studios.

"Just nick a sandwich," Louis advises. "I'll distract security."

"You're not shoplifting a sandwich," Liam says.

"How about a bowl of soup? Could tuck it under your hoodie. There's always risk of spillage but if Liam says no sandwiches —"

"No one's shoplifting anything," Liam reiterates.

"We're headed over to Topshop, anyways," their driver supplies helpfully. "No food there."

"Nooo," Niall moans, sounding even more dejected.

"Spot me a few quid?" Zayn turns to Liam. "Been wanting to buy a new shirt."

"I don't think it's that kind of shopping trip," Harry grits out as the car makes a turn. He grips Louis' thigh and tightens his arm around his waist to keep him from bouncing too much. But it's a rather futile attempt.

He's been having a difficult time maintaining his mental balance ever since Louis had sat himself on his lap for the car ride. Harry's cock has been twitchy all day — either a Pavlovian reaction to this renewed proximity to Louis or just that his cock is a teenager again — and he's having serious regrets about not sneaking off to the loo for a quick wank when he still could.

Though he's not confident it would have done much good. He'd challenge anyone to maintain their composure with Louis' bum in their lap.

It still makes him feel vaguely sleazy. The six years between them now is hardly the biggest age difference. It's less than half of some of the ones Harry was supposed to have had. But Louis still thinks he's a sixteen year old schoolboy and, anyways, Harry doesn't even know if this is Before or After. He's leaning towards Before, seeing as Louis hasn't once tried to sneak them away for a snog.

"What sort of shopping trip would it be then?" Liam asks.

Harry's saved from answering when they turn onto what looks to be Oxford Street. The car is immediately engulfed by screaming girls and the bright lights of camera crews.

"This sort," their driver says. He brakes the car and passes back a handful of felt markers. "Have fun, boys."

One of the security opens the car door on Liam's side. The other boys immediately clamber out, exclaiming about why are there so many people here and what are they supposed to do. Harry can't blame them. He's sure he'd been the same panicked-excited the first time around. But, this time, Harry notices Niall. Who is seated in the middle of the backseat and, in the dying evening light, still looking white as a sheet.

"Nialler?" Harry says. Niall jerks panicked eyes over to Harry.

"I'm not so good with tight spaces," he confesses, barely loud enough to hear over the screaming crowd.

"I know," Harry says. He squeezes his arm.

"You do?"

"Yeah." In the future, they'd come up with a signal for Niall to alert security when it gets to be too much. But, by then they had security who actually did their jobs and kept the crowds at a safe distance. Not who left them alone for the sake of reaction footage.

"What do I do?" Niall asks shakily.

The driver calls back to them: "You get on out, is what you do. I've got to move the car."

Harry thinks about it, then climbs over Niall so he's between him and the open door. He grabs for Niall's hand and tells him, "Just stick with me."

Niall gives a shaky nod. Harry squeezes his hand and hauls him out the door. 

Outside, the screams are louder and there are flashes of camera lights above the crowd. Harry's not tall enough to get a handle on the number of fans there. So he just grabs the first paper that's shoved at him and gives the girl a grin as he scrawls his signature. At least they'd been provided with decent enough pens for this, not something awkward and ballpoint.

Harry gets through a few more and then pulls Niall to him as he takes a selfie with a pair of girls. He spots one of the X Factor video cameras and slings an arm around Niall's shoulders. He gives the camera a smile and wave, hoping it's enough that they don't make them do it over again for the footage.

Then he tugs Niall by the hand through the crowd. With enough well-placed smiles and thank-you's, a couple one-armed hugs and a few more autographs, he manages to get them into Topshop.

Once they're inside the entrance, it's obvious that the crowd isn't as big as it looks. It's just that the front half of the shop is roped off, so all the fans are compressed into a small shopping area, making it all more chaotic than it needs to be.

Harry looks at Niall, who's wide-eyed and still looking scared. But he hasn't crossed the edge into a full-on panic, so Harry grabs a notepad from one of the girls and puts it into his hands. Niall stares at him as if he's never seen paper before.

"Sign it?" Harry leans in to tell him over the noise of the crowd.

"Oh!" Niall says. He manages to drop the cap of his marker onto the floor as he pulls it off, but he signs the notepad legibly enough and hands it back to the girl. He actually gives her a smile as he does it and, if Niall is smiling at pretty girls, he must be mostly all right. So when Harry finishes up taking selfies with the group of girls next to them, he grabs more papers for himself and Niall to sign.

Eventually, Harry takes Niall's hand again and they manage to squeeze past where Aiden and Matt are cornered by a group of fans. They make it to the middle of the crowd, where they find the rest of the boys.

 

 

They're put in a bigger ride on the way back, which at least means Louis is sitting next to Harry instead of on top of him. And that Harry no longer has to clench his teeth and think about nans' knickers with every bump in the road.

On the way home, Niall regales the boys with stories of Harry's heroism. And brags that, "Harry was actually writing everyone personal notes!"

"Was just writing thank you," Harry protests. There wasn't time for anything personalized in that kind of crowd, anyways.

"You were drawing hearts!" Niall exclaims.

"Are we supposed to do that?" Zayn asks. "I'd just written my name."

"You know, Niall's right, Harry. You didn't even seem bothered by it at all," Liam says, a crease in the middle of his brow.

His words are actually true enough. Despite resentment at their useless security, the "shopping" had actually been the least stressful part of the day. At least Harry didn't have to be "Harry Styles, 16 year old X Factor Contestant". He could just be "Harry Styles, autographer". A role he is much more recently experienced at.

Plus, no one tried to get him to sign inappropriate body parts, which is something he always counts as a win.

"'Course he wasn't bothered!" Louis exclaims from beside him.

His insistence would be more convincing if he hadn't looked at Harry with such relief when he and Niall had finally met up with the other boys. He'd clearly thought that Harry had been eaten alive — probably literally — by the crowd.

But he continues, "Our young Harold's a star. S'why I got his autograph the first time we met."

Luckily, before Louis can recount all the embarrassing details of their first encounter, they're driving through the gates of the X Factor house.

 

 

Later that night, once they've confirmed that all the Belle Amie girls are accounted for watching a Strictly rerun, Louis drags Harry around to do a prank that they'd apparently planned well beforehand.

Right now, they're just hiding behind the stairs. There's an ironing board digging into Harry's back and he's starting to get hungry. But Harry's here, in 2010, and he's pulling pranks with Louis again and he's suddenly so happy. Louis presses a finger over Harry's lips in an exaggerated attempt to quiet his giggles.

Louis is smiling the kind of smile that he gets when he tries not to smile, but it comes out anyways. His straight, soft hair is all askew from running around and he smells so _good_.

Harry suddenly, desperately wants to kiss him. Kiss him and then sink to his knees and taste him and watch his face while he sucks him off and—

Fuck.

He finally knows what day it is. 

This is the moment. The moment when, pressed together behind the staircase, Harry had kissed Louis for the first time. It had been tentative and awkward, as if he'd never even kissed anyone before. Which might as well have been the truth for now nervous he'd been.

Now, Louis' eyes are sparkling, and his mouth is soft and Harry wants so, so much to kiss him this time, too. Except —

Except Louis hadn't kissed him back.

Harry will never forget the look of shock, of _horror_ , in his eyes. He remembers how Louis muttered a broken-off excuse and bolted away, leaving Harry with humiliated, heartbroken tears in his eyes.

They'd never finished whatever prank they were going to pull. Louis had slept in his own bed for multiple nights in a row. Harry'd had to pretend to be happy and playful when he'd hung out with the boys even as he'd avoided looking directly at Louis. He'd had to perform and do interviews and film a stupid skit for Xtra Factor like nothing was wrong. And —

And Harry can't do it again. Can't lose Louis again. No matter if it's just temporary. Harry doesn't know for sure how long he'll be back here and can't stand the thought of pushing Louis away.

He's done enough of that in his life.

So, instead of leaning forward, he jerks back. He looks desperately around and says, "Um, I think the coast is clear."

And Louis, instead of running away this time, just reminds him, "Quiet, Hazza", as he grabs Harry by the wrist and pulls him in a sneaky crouch up to stairs to the 'Belle Amie' room.

 

 

Zayn's turned off the lights and Harry, waiting in his top bunk, can't help the way his heart picks up at the jostle of the bunk from Louis climbing up to join him.

"Meant it, y'know," Louis whispers as he flops under the covers.

"Meant what?" 

Louis shifts so Harry can rest his head on his chest. Under the scent of a teenager's cheap deodorant, he smells like sunlight and freshly-mowed football pitch.

"You're a star, Hazza," Louis says. He settles a hand on Harry's hip, on the bare skin above the waistband of his briefs.

Harry is reminded, suddenly, of an interview Louis gave a year ago. It had taken his barely-pieced-together heart and broken it all over again.

"So are you," Harry whispers back, as forcefully as he can.

"Sure, we all are, love," Louis says dismissively. "But you should have seen it. Back at the shop. You looked like a right popstar."

It's on the tip of Harry's tongue to tell him the truth. But he doesn't know the words to make it come out right. So instead he just says, "We'll all be _right popstars_ , Lou."

Louis yawns into his hair and says, "Promise?"

"Promise," Harry says.

 

 

Harry wakes up in Louis' embrace the next morning.

This time he manages not to fall off the bunk bed.

 

 

After Richard puts a good half hour into styling Harry's hair just to make it look the same as it always did and then Grace uses half a bottle of concealer to cover up the spots on his face (and, yes, a tiny, vain part of him wants to be resentful that he had to travel to the past exactly when he was in the middle of a breakout), Harry heads to wardrobe.

So much of The X Factor is staged, with made up storylines and straight out lies. But the one about Simon letting One Direction dress themselves is the actual truth. For better or for worse.

Harry chooses a blazer. He doesn't remember exactly when blazers became his look, but it must have been around this time. The sleeves on the one he's chosen leave half his forearms uncovered. He stares down at them. They're all bare skin, no tattoos, not even a single ring on his fingers. He knows he must have bracelets somewhere but hadn't thought to look for them.

He says, "I feel naked."

Niall snorts behind him. Louis, from where he's changing, winks at him and says, "We've all seen what you look like naked, Curly. Promise you, you're not naked right now."

Harry lets out a startled laugh before he can stop it and Louis looks supremely proud of himself.

Louis' shirt is still unbuttoned and Harry had been trying very hard not to peek, but can't help it now that he's already looked over.

Right there is the smooth skin and toned muscles of his chest. And right there, between his neck and his narrow collarbones, is a place that Harry knows is perfect for a kiss.

Harry watches him start do the buttons up and he wants to run his fingers over the ghost of the future words tattooed across Louis' bare skin.

Wants a moment to marvel at this time before Louis had given up on the world changing for them, and decided to change for the world.

"It is what it is," Harry finds himself whispering.

"What's that?" Louis asks.

But then a harried assistant rushes in and tells them it's time to get backstage.

 

 

Once it's over, Harry thinks he hears Louis Walsh calling them five Justin Biebers. But, between the screams of the crowd and the echoes of his own shit performance in his ears, Harry can barely make him out.

Harry has no one but himself to blame. He went off pitch every time he tried for any volume. He could feel his voice cracking when he tried to belt notes he shouldn't have ever had to strain for. And, on top of that, his lungs just about gave out every time he tried to hold a note for longer than a second.

The in-ears were crap, so Harry could barely hear the other boys. He has no idea how they sounded together, but unless Harry's mic was secretly turned off it couldn't have been good.

He'd been hoping to sneak off for some secret practice during the day, but, between being carted to and fro to give interviews and film segments and then hair and wardrobe, there hadn't been time. But, with how bad Harry was tonight, he's not sure it even would have done much good.

The familiar weight of Liam's arm comes to rest across his shoulders, grounding him. Harry takes a deep breath and forces himself to pay attention.

Despite everything, Louis Walsh is still saying, "I think you are the next big pop band."

Danii, who knows full well they don't choose their own songs, says, "I'm not sure I believe that Pink! is your guilty pleasure, though."

Simon gives her a dark look. Cheryl just laughs and tosses her long red hair over her shoulder.

Then Simon turns back to them and compliments them on their willingness to switch their song out at the last minute.

Once the judges finish bickering, Dermot is back onstage with them and asking how they feel about their song. Liam answers with confident words that make it seem like he's already had years of media training.

Then Dermot brings up their shopping trip.

Harry had seen the clips of Niall pale and scared, they'd shown before their performance. Had seen himself, a young, young Harry Styles, protecting him from the crowd. He doesn't remember this being a storyline last time and feels bad for Niall that it's become one now.

"Now, out of everyone, you seemed to be the most overwhelmed by the crowd, is that right?" Dermot says as he points the microphone at Niall. Harry reaches around Liam to squeeze his shoulder, but Niall just laughs, good natured as ever.

"I'm a bit claustrophobic, I s'pose," Niall says. "But Harry here protected me."

Dermot laughs. "We saw that. Harry, you seemed well enough at home amidst the madness, didn't you?"

"He's used to it from home in Cheshire, innit?" Louis shoots Harry a sly smile. "Our Harry's a popular lad."

The other boys laugh, and Harry ducks his head at Louis' attention, biting back a smile despite himself.

"Well, Harry, is that true?" Dermot holds the microphone in front of him.

"Of course. My mum and sister are always hounding me for autographs," Harry says, grinning out at the crowd. Then he slips into his usual talking points. "But it was really wonderful meeting all of you there. You're the reason we're here on this stage at all and we love every one of you." 

The crowd cheers and he waves back at them.

 

 

Later, as Harry is grasping for anything to take his mind off his own poor performance, he spots Rebecca Ferguson standing next to him.

"You were brilliant up there," Harry leans in to tell her.

Rebecca gives him a shy, lipstick-red smile and whispers a 'Thank you' back.

"Also," Harry adds truthfully, "I'm a little bit in love with your Jessica Rabbit dress."

Rebecca whispers, "You don't think it's too much?"

"Never," Harry promises. He hasn't been allowed to talk to her in years. He'd forgotten how quiet and shy she'd once been. A few years from now and she'd end up braver than any of the rest of them.

Rebecca giggles and Harry is about to ask how her children are when Konnie starts walking across the stage to where he and boys are standing.

Because, right, they're still filming.

"Boys, you know we get so many emails about you," Konnie says with a cheeky grin. "Will you just give us a yes or no to this question: girlfriends or not?"

She holds the Xtra Factor microphone out to Harry first. For the thousandth time in his life, he answers: "No."

Then Zayn: "No."

And Niall: "No."

And Liam: "No."

And Louis: "Yes."

Harry jerks around to look at Louis across the group of boys. He's soft-haired and pretty in a skinny scarf and cardigan and he's smiling at Konnie and he has no idea that he might as well have just punched Harry in the heart.

He's heard Louis answer 'yes' a thousand times, too. But not the way he says it now. Not _truthfully_. Not loud and clear as if he's proud of it.

They're on stage in front of a happily cheering crowd and all the judges are still sitting there watching and Harry's entirely unprepared to remember Heather. 

He's still staring at Louis so almost misses Konnie when she comes back to them from Belle Amie. "Boys, is what Louis Walsh said right? Do you feel like you're Simon's first best and he's ignoring his other group?"

"Of course we're not," Harry lies, a beat too late.

 

 

They're back at Fountain Studios the next night. It's Sunday and it's the results show and Harry's huddled down next to the outside wall. He's hugging his knees to his chest and holding his mobile in one hand, thumb hovering over Gemma's number.

The outside door is propped open with a rubbish bin and Harry can hear the strains of Cheryl singing her new single, but the sound is distorted coming through the backstage.

It's not just one thing that's left him in this overwhelmed heap on the ground.

It's just... It's David Cameron still being prime minister. It's being on the Fountain Studios stage when it's been boarded up for years. It's finding half the playlists on his ipod missing because the songs don't exist yet.

It's not being there for his second night at Madison Square Garden. It's letting down the thirty thousand people who bought tickets to see him. 

It's One Direction selling out multiple international stadium tours but now not knowing whether they're even going to make it through to the end of The X Factor. Not knowing if Harry's already messed everything up.

It's not knowing the rules. Not knowing what he's supposed to change and what he's not. Not knowing what he's allowed to tell anyone. Not knowing how long this is going to last.

It's being shit at secrets and hating lies and hiding from the boys who were once his best mates.

It's bunking with a boy he hasn't talked to in two years, a boy who has no idea he's the love of Harry's fucking life.

He must have pressed the button because he can hear the other end of the line ringing. He presses his phone to his ear and rubs his eyes.

"Harry?"

"Er. Hi," Harry says. 

"Are you all right?" Gemma demands through the phone. "Aren't you supposed to be on the show right now?"

"Cheryl's still singing," Harry says, unnecessarily. Because he can hear her on Gemma's telly in the background even as he hears her live through the other ear.

"Are you getting anxious, H?" she asks, her voice softening. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it down this weekend. But you boys were brilliant. There's not a chance you won't make it to next week, and I can come down then."

"No, that's not it," Harry says. He blurts out, "I'm twenty-four in a sixteen year old's body."

"What?" she demands.

"I'm twenty-four—"

"Look, maybe you should just skip to the punchline of the joke? Because you talk kind of slow, you know, and you must have to be on stage any minute now."

"It's not a joke, Gems. I mean, I know you're not going to be believe me, but I'll just worry mum if I call her and I don't have anyone else to talk to."

"You actually are upset," she says.

"Yeah." He rubs his fingers over his eyes. "I don't know what to say. I know time travel isn't real, right? But I also know that I'm twenty-four and I went to sleep in New York three days ago. And now it's 2010 and I'm sixteen and on The X Factor again."

There's a pause. Then, "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"You're right. I don't believe you."

Harry lets out a half-mad sort of laugh. "Yeah, thanks for that, Gems."

"I don't believe you and we'll talk about that later, okay?" she says. "But I can hear you're upset, so maybe just pretend I do believe you and tell me what I can do to help you get on that stage."

Cheryl's song ends and Harry hears Gemma's telly cut to an advert.

"I don't know." He sighs. "It's just—I didn't think about it before I said 'yes'. I don't want to mess everything up but I also—" He lowers his voice to a whisper and confesses, "I don't want to take it back."

"H," she says. "Will you believe me if I tell you everything's going be okay?"

Harry shakes his head. "Probably not."

"Then maybe you can pretend to believe me just like I'm pretending to believe you?" Gemma suggests. "Isn't that the least you can do, after all?"

Harry laughs, more genuine this time, and is about to reply when he hears a loud, "There ye are!"

Harry startles and looks up to see Niall there in the doorway. His cheeks are flushed as if he's been running around.

"Oi, come on, mate!" he says. "It's time to go on. Liam's freaking out and Louis' getting really worried. What are you even doing out here?"

"Hey, Gems, I've got to go," Harry says into his phone.

"That's what I've been telling you! Ring me after."

"Okay, yeah." Harry slips his phone back into his pocket and follows Niall inside.

 

 

"Again, this is in no particular order," Dermot is saying. He takes a long breath and then continues, "The fifth act through to next week on public vote is..."

Harry bunches his fists at his sides. Liam is standing rigidly to one side of him and Zayn's trembling fingers are digging into his shoulder.

"One Direction!"

Harry startles, eyes widening. They made it through. He didn't ruin it. Not yet.

A lean body barrels into him. Harry darts his eyes around but no one is coming to pull them apart, or glaring at them, or paying any attention at all, really. So Harry hugs Louis back as tight as he can.

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 3 - [Nobody Knows](https://youtu.be/eT9uetpvT9I?t=108)


	2. Chapter 2

"Maybe what I need to do is tell you something I could only know if I was from the future," Harry starts with. He's begged off the after-show party and holed up right now in an armchair in one of the lounges of the X Factor house.

"Well, hello to you, too, H," Gemma's says. "Congratulations and all that. You're still a bit delusional, though, it seems."

Despite that, Harry can't stop the corner of his mouth from lifting into a small smile. She sounds like his sister of 2018, as if eight years haven't just passed in reverse.

"So, tell me something only you could know, Mr Time Traveler," she continues.

"Okay, well." He sits up straighter. "One of your profs — I think it was the natural selection one? — is going to tell you to only revise the chapters of the second half of the term. But he'll put it all on the exam anyways. So you might want to keep that in mind."

"That was last term," Gemma says, dryly.

"Oh."

"And I almost failed because of it. Cheers for the reminder."

"Sorry."

"Um, all right, I've got a better one," Harry says, sitting up straighter. "I know you're dating that guy Eric but you're keeping it a secret. You're not going to tell me and mum til you're six months in."

There's a pause and then she says, "I don't think I even know an Eric."

Which is what she'd say if she was trying to keep it a secret, too. But it doesn't sound like she's lying.

Gemma adds, "You do sound different, though."

"I know." Harry heaves out a sigh. "It's why sounded so shit. It's like I woke up with some stranger's vocal cords in my throat."

"That's not what I meant."

He frowns. "What did you mean, then?"

"Just — wait. Are you trying to put on an accent? Is that it?" she demands. "Please don't tell me you're going to try to convince me you're American in the future, too."

"I sound American?"

"No, not very," she scoffs. "Just like you can't decide if you're trying to sound RP or American and you're making a poor attempt at both."

"Hey," he complains.

And then he can hear the front door slamming open and a crowd of stomping feet. People must be back from the party now.

He sighs and concedes: "I've been spending some time in the States lately, I guess."

A lot of time, really. Between touring, he's mostly living in L.A. It's only made sense, what with his new management and recording studio being based there. And most of his writers and collaborators. Not to mention that, well, he and Louis might have by silent agreement divided up continents. Harry got the one with palm trees and sunny beaches and I-5 traffic.

"And," he continues. "Management would keep telling us to sound less regional for marketing and all that. M'not trying to sound better or whatever."

Not that those directives ever affected him that much. It was mostly Louis and Niall they kept having to remind.

"Management," Gemma echoes.

"Shit, Gems," Harry says. He collapses wearily back into the armchair and stares at the ticking clock across the dark room. "Don't know what I can say so you know I'm not completely mad. I can't even give you a spoiler on what's going to happen tomorrow. I wasn't exactly occupied with day-to-day newsworthy events on 25 October 2010."

"You are swearing more, there's that," Gemma offers helpfully. "Did they tell you to do that for marketing, too?"

 

 

Eventually he gets out the story of the Traveler and her question, and maybe Gemma doesn't completely believe it, but at least she's not packing him off to a mental institution tonight. And maybe his dozen questions aren't answered about what he's supposed to be doing back here, but at least he has his achingly familiar sister he can talk to.

It's enough, at least, to get himself packed off to bed before someone starts to worry.

Harry climbs his bunkbed, trying to be as un-clumsy as possible so as not to wake the lump of boy under the covers. But, by the time he makes it to the top, Louis is lifting up the duvet for Harry to crawl under.

"Long talk with the sis?" Louis whispers.

"Sorry. Didn't have to wait up for me," Harry says. Louis is lying on his back and Harry fits his face between Louis' chin and his chest. Louis wraps his arms around him.

Louis huffs out a soft laugh, breath ruffling Harry's hair. "Hazza, it's fine t'be a bit homesick, you know. You are just sixteen."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. His fingers trace over the curve of Louis' side, warm through his threadbare t-shirt. Homesick isn't actually a lie. "G'night, Lou."

"Night, Harold."

 

 

Harry frowns down at his laptop, trying to remember his old twitter password.

Maybe it was talking to Gemma, or maybe it was just the relief of making it through the third live show, but Harry woke early this morning feeling a lot more like his actual self.

Eggs are frying behind him on the hob, the kettle is on and the toaster is on an appropriate setting this time. He'd run into Mary coming out of the bathroom, and he can hear Cher and a couple of the other girls loud above him from the girls' first floor room but he's early enough to have to the kitchen to himself.

He'd even been inspired to tweet this morning and so now has his laptop open in the kitchen. His twitter page looks entirely different than what he's used to. Common and bare, like it could belong to a not-famous person. His photo is one from the X Factor promo pics. There's no verified checkmark next to his name. His follower count is barely over a thousand.

Though, admittedly, that was probably was a lot for sixteen year old Harry Styles.

He's already tried two of the passwords he can remember but they're not working. Of course, he's not sure he's remembering them right at all when they weren't much more than random strings of letters and special characters that his management had secured his account with. 

And now he's one attempt away from getting locked out of his own account.

He turns back to the eggs, probes them with the corner of his spatula, and decides it's time to flip them over. The water's not boiling yet in the kettle, so he goes back to his laptop.

Maybe it's too early for management to have taken over his account. Maybe his password is still —

He bites his lip and glances around to make sure no one's watching. And then surreptitiously types 'HarryTomlinson', correct capitals and everything.

"There you are!"

Harry lets out a startled squeak.

It's Louis in the doorway of the giant kitchen. He's a little rumpled, glasses on, feet bare, creases in his worn United t-shirt and trackies low over his hips. Harry is still not ashamed to say he would like to spend all morning just staring at him.

Which reminds him — he glances back at his laptop, just in case it's somehow displayed his attempt at a password in big bold unencrypted letters. Instead, it's on his profile page, successfully logged in.

He turns back to Louis. He's actually a bit surprised it's him and not Niall who found him first. Niall tends to have an unerring instinct for when food is ready, can wake from the dead of sleep for a hot-cooked meal.

"You made breakfast?" Louis asks.

"Yup," Harry says and grins at him. "They put some fruit and bagels out—" Harry says, nodding towards the dining room where the food they bring for each meal is set out. "But I wanted to make us all something special. You know. To celebrate."

"Aww, Curly, you big sap." Louis pokes him in the cheek, going, as always, unerringly for his dimple.

"Get the other boys?" Harry says.

 

 

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 25 Oct 2010  
How d'ya like your eggs in the morning

 

 

Harry stares at the giant and fascinatingly creepy painting of Simon Cowell's own face on the office wall.

Two years ago, Harry had found himself coming back to his big, empty London house. The same house he'd bought years ago and had only stayed in when he needed to get papped leaving it. Nick had recently kicked him out of his guest room and he was sensing he was starting to overstay his welcome on Ed's sofa.

So he'd been trudging up to the main bedroom of his own house, suitcases in hand, when he promptly had a heart attack.

Nick had some got a full-size replica poster of this very same painting taped up in Harry's bedroom.

It was an odd and terrifying sort of apology and had given Harry nightmares until he'd finally taken it down, tape ripping a chunk of plaster off the wall that he still hasn't painted back over.

Now, back in 2010, the painting still exists, and Simon's office has all the same white walls and hard edges Harry remembers. The camera crews aren't even entirely unfamiliar.

They sit down with Simon in the sitting area since there isn't room for all of them at the desk.

"So, boys," Simon says. He taps his fingers together thoughtfully as he sits back in his chair. "You made it through another week."

Harry hadn't meant to sit next to Louis on the sofa in front of Simon. Definitely hadn't meant to sit there with Louis' arm slung casually over the back of the sofa behind him. But here he is. But Simon isn't even looking at them askance.

"This week's theme is Halloween," Simon continues.

"Halloween?" Zayn repeats.

Louis eagerly leans forwards and says, "Please tell me we're doing Thriller."

With the movement, Louis' arm slips off the back of the sofa and down around Harry's shoulders and Louis just keeps it there. Harry's fingers twitch over the strap of his messenger bag.

"No," Liam says. Then looks back at Simon in concern. "We're not, are we?"

Niall cackles madly.

"No, you aren't," Simon says. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

"We'll be voted off for sure, then." He slouches back down in dramatic disappointment, his head falling on Harry's shoulder.

 

 

The Belle Amie girls are waiting when Harry and the boys and the camera crew step out of Simon's office.

Louis says loudly. "Fancy meeting you here, ladies."

"Look, we know what you did." The blond-haired girl glares at them. 

"Don't know what you could possibly be talking about," Louis lies, ducking behind Liam.

"Er, what did we do?" Zayn asks.

"Don't pretend you don't know," the shorter of the two brown-haired girls says.

"The alarm? That you buried in our wardrobe? And set go off at 3 AM the night before the show?" The blond girl crosses her arms over her chest.

"What? We didn't do that," Liam says, but glances around to where Louis is hiding behind him. He narrows his eyes.

"It's just pathetic you thought you had to sabotage us to win," she continues.

Harry catches the cameraman training the video camera intently on them and he sneaks behind Louis who is still hiding behind Liam.

In retrospect, if Harry had been thinking at all he would have realized that pranking the act who had the most reason to resent them in the first place, who were holding on the most delicately to their spot here, wasn't the best show of sportsmanship. In his defense, he'd been a little distracted by trying not to kiss Louis at the time.

"Girls, Simon's ready for you now," Simon's assistant announces.

"See you later, Zayn?" the taller brown-haired girl calls after them. What was her name? Geneva?

 

 

"That was nice of 'im, though," Niall says as they stomp as a group down the back staircase of the Syco building. "Getting us coaching today."

They're meeting Sandeep on one of the lower floors. After they escaped Belle Amie, the elevator was taking too long and they hadn't wanted to miss any of their coaching time with Sandeep. Somehow no one had questioned when Harry knew the unmarked door was to the stairs. 

Not all the acts start vocal coaching Monday. Apparently, one isn't even meeting with Sandeep until Wednesday. Simon had informed them as they left that he'd pulled a few strings to get them in Sandeep this morning.

"Why does Simon even have to pull strings?" Liam asks. "Isn't he in charge of all this?"

"What's that puppet called?" Harry interjects.

"What?" Louis says. He nudges Harry, and it's not even very forceful, but Harry stumbles off his step and Louis has to grab him by his flailing arm to steady him. "Shit, careful, Harold."

"You know, the puppet. With all the strings?" Harry says when he's recovered.

"A marionette?" Zayn asks. He glances back at Harry from down the stairs.

"Yes, marionette," Harry says. Louis hasn't let go of his arm yet, as if he's afraid Harry may still tumble down. But it's not Harry's fault that the building's old and the stairs are narrow and worn at the edges and Harry's legs aren't the length they're supposed to be. 

He continues, "Simon Cowell is the puppeteer. Get it? Because he pulls _all_ the strings."

"What do you mean?" Liam asks.

"It's a joke," Harry says.

Niall starts laughing and Louis does a little, too, though he protests, "That's not even a joke! There's no punchline."

"You're laughing," Harry points out smugly.

 

 

"Total eclipse of the heart," Niall sings as they crowd into the recording booth. Zayn echoes with a "of the heart" with a vibrato at the end.

"Am I missing something?" Liam asks.

"Missing what?" Sandeep asks distractedly. He's opening the media player on the computer.

"Does our song even have anything to do with Halloween?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Sandeep says. He turns around. "Ready to watch Saturday's performance? Have any of you seen it yet?"

They haven't. They were busy all day yesterday and not near any TVs or computers. 2010 mobiles apparently can't handle the video recaps on the X Factor website.

Sandeep presses play and Harry watches, steeling himself to confront his own cringe-worthy performance. But, as the song goes on, he finds himself frowning in bewilderment. On the computer screen, Zayn ends the song with a "Nobody knows but meeeee" and then the crowd's cheering starts and the video cuts to the judges.

Sandeep presses stop and turns to the group where they're all crowded into the narrow recording booth.

"Not bad at all, boys," he says, friendly smile on his face. "We've still got work to do but you did quite a good job for week three."

"Yeah we did!" Louis exclaims. He high-fives Zayn and Niall lets out a woot.

Harry glances over at Liam. He's the only one besides Harry who's not celebrating, just standing with a crease of consternation in his brow.

Harry looks back at Sandeep, who is engulfed in one of Niall's overly enthusiastic hugs.

"That doesn't even sound like us, though," Harry blurts out.

"Of course it sounds like us," Niall says with a laugh as he pulls back from Sandeep. "Who else would it sound like?"

"We've never sounded like that," Harry says.

Sandeep holds Harry's gaze. His brown eyes are kind as always but there's something else in them, too. "You're going to sound different recorded in a venue like this than what you're used to."

"You know it's more than just that," Harry insists. Sandeep was their main writer for their first album and Harry had always sort of liked him. But, by their second time around, the boys had gotten into more than one conflict with Sandeep and their other writers about their songs.

"What are you saying, Harry?" Sandeep asks mildly.

"He's saying that you produced the heck out of us," Liam says, sounding betrayed.

"All we did was adjust the sound levels," Sandeep says calmly. "That's normal in a large venue like this, especially when it's a group performing."

"Not like that," Harry insists.

"Look, guys—" Sandeep starts.

"What do you mean by produced?" Louis interrupts to ask Liam.

"Auto-tuned," Liam answers. He turns to Sandeep. "I know you did it with auditions, it was all over the papers. But it wasn't supposed to happen with the live shows."

"Auto-tuned is a strong word," Sandeep says. He leans back against the table and crosses his arms. "And it's not accurate. There's always sound mixing that's going to happen. You'll get used to it as you go on."

"No, it's definitely more than that," Harry repeats. He shakes his head in frustration.

He doesn't remember it being so blatant last time. But it's so incredibly obvious right now and he doesn't understand why Sandeep is pretending not to hear it.

Harry gestures towards the computer screen, frozen on an image of Simon Cowell and Louis Walsh glaring at each other. He says, "I was off pitch through my whole solo. But you'd never know it to hear that."

"Don't worry, Harry," Sandeep says. "We'll work on hitting your notes more consistently. We'll focus on that this week, actually. And when you get more consistent, you won't need the pitch correction."

"Wait," Zayn says. "So they really did autotune Harry's part? You can do that live?"

"It wasn't just Harry," Liam says. "It was all of us."

Harry stares at Sandeep. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see out of the corner of his eyes the other boys exchanging glances with each other.

"I want to win," Liam hesitates. "Of course I do. But—"

"But," Louis says. "Not like that. It's like cheating, yeah?"

Harry hears Zayn and Niall voice quiet agreements.

"Look, boys, you made it through another week. That wasn't us or our sound techs doing that. That was you. And that's something to celebrate," Sandeep says. "It's not cheating to tweak the sound a bit. If anything you're still at a disadvantage. We created One Direction only a few weeks ago. You'll get the hang of it and then you won't need the help."

"You'll back off the autotune, then?" Liam asks.

"Yes," Sandeep says. He picks up a stack of papers from the table and passes them out to the boys. "But it's on you, too. You need to work hard."

"Right." Harry sighs and looks down at the tabs for Total Eclipse of the Heart.

 

 

When they get back to the house, the boys crowd around Harry's laptop to watch the Bonnie Tyler music video on YouTube. 

There's a long silence afterwards.

"That's creepy as fuck," Zayn says.

Harry has his face buried in Louis' shoulder. If he'd remembered this video at all he would have closed his eyes much sooner. As it is, around the time the glowing eyes showed up, he realized there was no chance he'd not have nightmares tonight.

"I see why Simon chose it for Halloween," Liam says.

"Think I can dress up as a glowy ghost?" Niall asks.

"Let's ask Brian to put sword fighting in our choreography," Louis says.

"Can we watch the Ellen cover now?" Harry asks weakly.

 

 

"Hello," Harry says just as he was prompted to. "This is One Direction, and this is our video diary."

"Week four video diary," Louis interjects from the step below him.

Harry corrects, "Week four video diary."

Pattie nods at him from behind the cameraman. Harry had recognized her right away when she'd joined the cameraman and he can't help the reflexive flinch when he saw her again.

He hadn't realized Modest management had been involved even during The X Factor.

"Now, boys," she says. "Tell us how you did last week. How did you feel about having to change your song at the last minute?"

Around Harry, the boys look at each other. Liam is the one who answers, though it feels like it's being pulled out of him, "We're really happy with our performance last week."

No one else is talking, so Pattie prompts, "And changing your song at the last minute?"

"Changing our song at the last minute was hard, of course," Liam says into the camera. "But Simon made the right call. And we're very happy with how it turned out."

Louis proceeds to take over the question-reading. He's loud and obnoxious and for some reason wearing the scarf over his eyes that he'd stolen from Katie Wiassel this morning. Harry knows he only gets this over the top when he has something to deflect. Bring all the attention to himself in order to keep anyone from _truly_ noticing him.

But Harry doesn't know the reason for it. Had he done this last time, too?

A few minutes ago, Harry had been catching up on his own old Facebook page when Zayn of all people had found him. Harry had dutifully followed him to the stairs behind the kitchen, but hadn't talked as they made their way alone through the house. 

He doesn't know what to say to Zayn anymore. In the last three years, he hasn't talked to him bar the occasional polite 'hello' at parties. And right now it's five years before he cheats on his fiancee, leaves them in the middle of a tour and then blindsides them with a _Facebook_ announcement that he's leaving the band.

Even if it's not fair to judge him for things he hasn't even done yet, he's still the same Zayn who did them. He'd left them and never looked back.

Harry had looked back, at least. Looked back so hard he'd traveled backward in time.

"And our last question is from Celia," Louis is saying loudly, cutting through his thoughts. He's pretending he can't see through the scarf around his eyes but at the same time reading the questions off the papers an assistant had given them. "What is the most loving and caring thing you would ever do for a girl?"

"I would take a girl on a romantic holiday," Liam says.

Niall and Zayn stumble over their words until Louis gets impatient and cuts them off with a, "And what about you Harry?"

"Um, I would..." Harry trails off.

He knows his rote answers by heart but can't always bring himself to say them. There's a reason questions like these are blacklisted from his interviews now that he no longer has the boys to cover for him.

But, as he stares down at Louis and his ridiculous scarf, he realizes no one is going to cover for him today.

Here, in 2010, they don't know how much he hates questions about girls. They probably don't even know he's gay. Louis had found out when Harry had kissed him and the other boys had all found out when, weeks later, they walked in on them snogging.

Niall had laughed uncomfortably. Liam and Zayn had just stared at them. And Louis had stared back, wide-eyed and so scared.

That was, however, the last uncomfortable moment about it. And, to be honest, probably wouldn't have been uncomfortable at all if Louis' hands hadn't been halfway into Harry's pants at the time.

Harry jerks back to the present — past? — time when he feels Louis poke him in the leg.

"You all right there, Harold?"

"Um, I think I forgot the question," Harry says weakly.

Louis laughs, and Harry hears Zayn chuckle from below him. 

"All right," Louis says. "Apparently Curly here wouldn't do anything for a girl he cared for, but I can tell you that I would—"

"Wait," Pattie from Modest cuts in a way that's way too familiar for Harry. "Harry has to answer."

"But Zayn and Niall didn't," Liam points out.

"Harry answering will get you more views," she says, crossing her arms. "And more votes next week. Harry, the question was, what is the most caring thing you'd do for a girl."

"Right, well," Harry says, looking down. They've obviously _already_ decided to position him as the front man and Harry hadn't realized, either, how early that had happened. He just can't... he can't do this. So instead he says, "The girl I care the most about is my mum. And I would probably bake her a cake."

"Good answer, Mr Styles," Louis says in his loud interviewer voice. "You could do that for the lads you care about, too, you know."

"What?" Harry chokes out. His eyes bug out because there's not a chance Louis of all people would say in front of a taping camera—

"Your four best mates, for example," Louis continues, oblivious. "Who, I have on good account, all have a special appreciation for cake."

"I like chocolate," Liam interjects.

Louis amends, "Your four mates have a special appreciation for chocolate cake, Harold."

Pattie shakes her head at them, but at least she doesn't make Harry answer over again.

 

 

Harry is lying on his stomach on Liam's bed — since it's conveniently the only one without a bunk on top. He's scrolling through the Digital Spy X Factor forums on his computer trying to get himself caught up on 2010.

Apparently the higher-ups did, indeed, position Harry as the de facto front man of the band this early on. Earlier than this, in fact.

There's a link to Simon Cowell telling Konnie that the band member he'd most like to 'have a conversation with' is Harry. Harry hadn't ever remembered that footage from last time. Especially since Simon has never going out of his way to have a conversation with him. 

There's a poster saying that they're starting to have a crush on Louis after the last video diary. But then a reply that says they don't see why Louis is even in the band and is the worst singer of all of them. Another poster comes up with the weak defense that they have barely even heard him sing.

On the same page there's a link to a video from the bootcamp episode of Simon calling Liam boring and one-dimensional. Harry remembers that and remembers how hard Liam took it. 

Even if it's by far not the worst any of the boys are going to hear about themselves, Harry still wishes he could reach into the computer and rip everything off the website.

But suddenly there's a lean body jumping onto Harry's back.

"Louis!" Harry gasps out. Because if having the weight of a full-grown boy fall onto him wasn't enough, now Louis' hands are slipping under Harry's t-shirt and he's _tickling_ him. "Stop it."

He's giggles and thrashing around, grabbing for Louis' terrible fingers and trying to shove him off. At some point his laptop falls off the bed with a clunk but he doesn't care because Louis is on top of him laughing and grinning and his light eyes are sparkling. 

Louis finally lets up with the tickling and sits back up, straddling Harry's hips.

The light from the loft window lights him up from behind. Harry traces his eyes down his silhouette: the lean muscles of his arms, his chest, the taper of his waist, the bit of tummy under his well-fitted t-shirt. The thick, strong thighs that are currently holding Harry down in place on the bed where's he's all twisted around in the sheets.

Louis' hair is all messed up from the struggle, hanging straight and disheveled around his light eyes. Harry's boy is soft and so beautiful and he's smiling down at Harry fondly. It's his 'Harry' look, and Harry has missed it so, so much.

"You're so pretty," Harry blurts out. Louis' eyebrows raise and Harry actually feels himself flush.

He knows Louis is attracted to him. Knows this because future Louis has told him repeatedly how he'd thought Harry was the fittest boy from the very beginning. And told him how hard it had been to pretend that he didn't.

This Louis recovers from Harry's surprise outburst quickly and grins at him. He pokes at where Harry's dimple is until Harry is smiling back at him.

"I s'pose you're not a total minger yourself, Hazza," Louis says. And then he cackles loudly and goes for Harry's neck.

Harry's well on his way to fully hard and the way Louis is sucking at his neck to give him a love bite is not helping at all. Louis shifts his hips and gives Harry friction he really doesn't need. He knows Louis can feel him and Harry can feel, through layers of clothing, that he's not the only one affected right now.

Harry doesn't know how Louis ever managed to convince himself that they were just close mates.

"There," Louis says. He sits back up and eyes his work on Harry's neck critically. There's a hitch in his voice, though, and Harry knows, _knows_ , that he's not completely unaware of what's happening here.

But Harry can't stand the thought of scaring him away, and so he says, desperately, "Knock knock."

Louis' eyes are still on Harry's neck and he does a startled double-take when Harry speaks. It quickly turns into an unimpressed look, but he gives in like he always does and says, "Who's there?"

"A cow goes," Harry says. Despite himself, he has to bite at his lips against the giggles threating to come out. This is one of his cleverest and he's made entire _stadiums_ laugh with this joke.

"A cow goes who?" Louis says, even though it looks like it pains him to say it.

"No, a cow goes moo!" 

There's a pause and then, "H, you are the worst," Louis says, and he's shaking his head but he's also laughing along with Harry and still glowing in the sunlight. "The literal worst," he adds.

 

 

The next morning, Harry decides he wants to feel more like himself. He decides to start with the curly mess of hair that, every time he catches himself in the mirror, realizes makes him look, well, sixteen. He texts Gemma, "Is it against the rules of time travel to do my hair properly?" 

He's left his mobile upstairs and when he retrieves it after breakfast, there's a reply: "I dare you to try."

And another text that reads: "If you can tame that mess I'll actually believe you're from the future."

And then: "And if you ever wake me up with a text this early again I will cut you."

Harry's sixteen year old self only has a bottle of cheap gel and he thinks that no product this fluorescent green can possibly do good things to your hair. But there's not a chance he could afford to buy his go-to brands from the future, if they even exist yet. Zayn's stash, which takes up the entire surface of their bedside table, looks promising, however.

Once he's in the en-suite, though, scrutinizing himself in the mirror, it's quickly apparent that any of the hairstyles Harry's been able to approximate in the future without a stylist has been in great part due to a good cut. But it's not all a wasted effort. At least he manages to get his curls a little less frizzy.

Of course, as soon as he steps back into the room, he runs into Louis.

"What did you do to your hair?" he demands. And then immediately proceeds to mess it all up again.

 

 

They meet Brian at a gymnasium in the middle of London for choreography, which ends up being a lot of effort to go to for choreography that entirely consists of sitting down, then standing up, then taking three steps forwards. But neither Harry nor any of the other boys are about to complain about not doing anything more complicated.

They get mobbed on their way out, because obviously their location was leaked, and after signing autographs and taking a few selfies, they head home for a luxurious three hours free.

Harry's bandmates join Matt and Aiden, and a couple of the others for footie in the back garden. There are a few other contestants around the house but when Harry sneaks off to the practice rooms he's happy to find that they're empty.

This is the third day Harry's managed to find some time to practice alone. The two rooms are small, probably meant to be ground floor bedrooms. The one with the keyboard has a pink lace bra of unknown ownership slung over it and Harry decides to choose the other room.

He glances at the recording equipment, but pulls out his mobile instead. It would be a lot better quality to use a proper microphone, but he doesn't exactly want a record of his attempts to control over his voice back.

He's found that his voice likes to settle a little higher than he's used to, and when he gets used to that it does wonders for keeping on pitch. His diaphragm muscles aren't as developed as he's used to, so he has to use a little more muscle to project and have decent breath control. But now that he knows that, he can compensate.

And he's not sure what he needs to do with his vocal cords — is sure a vocal coach would have lots of technical names for it — but they're simultaneously harder and easier to control.

At least, in the end, this is still his voice and he's gotten a lot of comfort with it back in this short time. After some warm-ups, today's practice includes a nostalgic 'What makes you beautiful', a rendition of 'Girl Crush' that's probably a bit too on point (but when has it never _not_ been?), and a 'Sign of the Times' where he actually hits even the highest notes, even if he can't sustain them for as long as he should be able to.

At this point he realizes he's forgotten to bring water and he attempts to sneak out of the room to grab a bottle.

But then he suddenly stops.

Liam is there. He's sitting on one of the bean bags in this small makeshift lounge just outside. Harry glances back at the practice room and then back at Liam, who's staring at him with wide eyes.

The practice rooms aren't soundproof. Far from it.

"Harry, what _was_ that?" Liam asks after a long moment of silence.

"I, um," Harry starts. "I thought you were playing footie with everyone."

"And I thought we were friends. Or getting there, at least," Liam says. His face is all square angles and floppy hair and he looks angry and hurt, like a bulldog puppy that has just been kicked. "I didn't think you could sing like _that_. I thought you wanted the same things we did. Why would you hold back so much?"

Harry sinks down into the bean bag next to Liam. He takes a deep breath. "Li, we _are_ friends, I promise. And I want to win as much as you do. I just—" Liam is smart and he knows music and Harry knows he's just insulting him but he tries anyways, "Maybe I've done some vocal training but forgot to mention it?"

Liam's eyes narrow.

"Would you believe that I get too anxious to sing properly in front of anyone?"

"No," Liam says shortly.

"Okay," Harry says. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit he knows he's picked up from Louis. Then he says, "Would you believe me if I said I've spent the last eight years doing almost constant touring and recording and maybe also did get a little vocal training in there, too?"

Liam stares at him for a long moment and then sighs. "It's the most plausible explanation you've had so far." He shakes his head. "I don't even recognize any of the songs you were singing."

"That's because Girl Crush is from a couple years from now. I think." It wasn't on his iPod when he'd looked and his younger self would absolutely have downloaded it if it had existed. "And, um, What Makes You Beautiful is our first single. Sign of the Times is... from later."

Liam is just staring at him.

"Should I have not told you that?" Harry runs a hand through the frizz of his hair. Zayn's gel has long since been defeated by the rainy London day.

"I don't even understand what you think you're telling me," Liam says.

"Right," Harry says. He looks away. "So, I met this woman. And her daughter. Well, her neice, actually. I was wearing a hat and sunglasses, but I wasn't really that surprised that they recognized me, you know?"

Liam isn't interrupting him. The best listener award is probably a draw between Ed and Harry's mum. But Liam has always been almost as tolerant of Harry's rambling stories as Louis is. And Louis himself wins a very special honorable mention because he only takes the piss half the time when he interrupts him, and the other half of the time he just snogs him until Harry completely forgets what he's talking about.

So Harry continues, "The thing is, I wasn't _unhappy_ , not really. I had good friends and I got to sing and — my life wasn't bad, right? But when that young girl asked me if I wanted to do it over and the woman said it would be eight years, I just said yes. I didn't even think about it. I didn't _need_ to think about it." He glances down at his hands. "And then I kind of just forgot until I woke up here the next morning."

After a long moment, Liam asks, "The tours you mentioned. Is that — is that us? Do we do that?"

"Yeah."

"So we make it as a band?"

"We _really_ make it." Harry can't help a small smile.

"We win X Factor then?" he asks.

"We—well, it's complicated," Harry starts. Then suddenly sits up straight and stares at Liam. "Shit. You actually believe me?"

"Guess so." Liam shrugs.

Harry can hardly believe it. "Just like that?" 

The kernels of Liam's bean bag chair crackle as he shifts in it. He says, "You sound utterly mad, but — I heard you sing."

Harry sinks back into the chair. He feels like a whole weight has been lifted off of him. It's one thing to talk about this with Gemma over a phone line, and under a veil of sarcasm. It's another that Liam, lovely, wonderful Liam, believes him.

"How long?" Liam asks.

"Last week," Harry says.

"So you were here Saturday," Liam says, eyes narrowing. "Then you _were_ holding back on us."

"No, no, I wouldn't do that. I promise," Harry protests. "I didn't want to stand out but I didn't intentionally mess up, I promise. My voice is just acting different. My whole body feels different. It is different. I mean, I'm sixteen, right?"

"Except you're twenty-four," Liam says.

"Right."

"And that's why you're here," Liam says. "Practicing and not out playing football with the rest of them."

"Well," Harry admits. "That and I'm really good at scoring against my own team."

"Right," Liam says. But he's clearly got his mind on something else. "So, we need to tell the others and then we can make plans for—"

"What? No, I can't—" Harry starts speaking over him.

But then they're both interrupted with a loud, "Payno! There you are, you traitor."

Liam's rolling his eyes as Louis rounds the corner. Then Louis spots Harry and exclaims, "And our very own Hazza!"

Harry can't help the smile on his face as he looks up at him. "Who won?" he asks. Louis' shoes are off and his bare, muscled legs are streaked with mud and unfairly gorgeous.

"We did," Louis says. He runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair and then glares at Liam. "No thanks to this one, though."

"I told you, I needed time for some extra—" Liam says.

"Practice. Right, because that's what you're doing. More like gossiping like a pair of ninnies," Louis says drily as he throws himself right down on Harry's lap in the bean bag. Harry wraps his arms around his waist to keep him there. No doubt Louis' trying to be obnoxious, seeing as he's covered in sweat. But a sweaty and tactile Louis isn't something Harry's ever _not_ welcomed in his arms.

Harry can't even regret not kissing him last week, because he would have missed this if he had. Wouldn't have his boy in his arms right now. Instead he'd be morose and frustrated and alone, just like he'd been eight years ago.

Louis, does, eventually, get up, however, to go take a shower. Harry stands up to follow him — well, not into the shower, but upstairs — but he stops at Liam's hand on his shoulder.

"We can tell the others tonight," Liam says.

"I can't," Harry shakes his head. "Not yet. I mean, I just don't want to ruin things."

"We're a group," Liam says stubbornly. "We can't have secrets between us or it's not going to work."

"Can't believe you think you're going to be bad at this group thing," Harry tells him. 

"Who ever said I think that?"

"You did," Harry says. Harry pokes Liam in the forehead. He's surprised by how far he has to reach up to do it because, that's right, Liam's taller than him again.

Liam stares at him looking confused for a moment before he says, "Oh."

"There's someone I have to tell, all right? Before I tell everyone else. But —" Harry says. "We could go over the music, right? Figure out how we can stop getting ourselves autotuned."

Liam's eyes brighten at that.

 

 

They have to shoot a cooking segment with the Sainsbury Try Team that evening and it takes forever because they have to stop and start over filming three times. 

First because Cher breaks her fake nail off and it goes flying into Katie's food. Then because they have to get a new taste tester when Zayn can't do it. And then because Paije starts crying when the taste testing is too spicy. Actually, Harry is pretty sure they'll end up airing that last bit after all.

At least when it's all over they get to eat a halfway decent dinner made up of the plates the contestants didn't completely botch up. Except for Zayn, that is.

Harry might not be entirely sure how he feels about Zayn, but he's not a monster. Zayn can't cook and Harry had probably not even noticed last time that he couldn't eat the dinner. To be honest, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed this time, either — he was a bit busy cooing over photos of the cameraman's new baby— but it was hard to miss Louis bursting into the dining room, half-covered in flour and throwing himself in front of Zayn's plate to save him from the bacon hidden in the supposedly beef meatloaf.

That scene definitely would have made it onto the Xtra Factor if the show weren't trying so hard to pretend that Zayn wasn't Muslim.

So Harry fries him up some vegetables quickly and makes a fajita the way he knows Zayn likes it.

On his way out, he almost runs into Wagner, who's gotten Treyc cornered and saying, "You are so beautiful, I want to kiss you."

Harry meets Matt's eyes, who's walked in from the other side and is frowning, looking concerned. But, by the time either of them steps forwards to intervene, though, Treyc has already extracted herself.

When Harry finally gets Zayn's plate to him, Zayn goes from glaring at everyone else's food to looking smugly around the table.

 

 

Later that night, they're all in their pajamas in their loft room. Harry's got one of the blankets around his shoulders, because it's a cold evening and his pajamas consist only of his pants. His laptop is in his lap with the backing music to Total Eclipse of the Heart pulled up. Well, the laptop is technically on Louis' lap, but Louis is sitting next to him on the floor and has his legs sprawled all over Harry's so it's essentially the same thing.

Liam taps his pencil over his tab sheets. "Look, I know Sandeep said it was fine, but there's still something that doesn't sound right."

"What's wrong with it?" Niall asks interestedly, looking up from where he's sitting in a pile of clothing, guitar in his lap as he absently picks at strings.

"The chorus last week was so produced we barely had separate voices," Harry says. "We need to show them they're only hurting us if they do that."

"Right, so, Harry," Liam turns to him. "What do we need to do?"

"Why are you just asking Harry that?" Zayn asks, frown creasing his brow. He's lounging back on his own bottom bunk.

Liam looks stymied for a moment but then rallies with a, "He was the only one who noticed we didn't sound right, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, just because he's the baby doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing," Louis jumps in to defend him.

"Shuttup, I'm not the baby," Harry says, pushing at Louis' shoulder. He's well aware that it makes him sound that much younger to say that but it's worth it when Louis laughs. 

But Liam's looking at him expectantly, so Harry unceremoniously dumps Louis' legs off his lap and hops over to Liam's bed, blanket still clutched around his shoulders.

He sits on his knees beside Liam and peers over his shoulder at the vocals printouts.

"All right, I have an idea," Harry says. Because he's been thinking about it ever since Liam found out earlier that day and this is one of his favorite parts of making music. "We want our voices to stand out, right?"

Liam nods. Harry grabs his pencil to mark up the sheet.

"See this part?" He taps the pencil near the end of Liam's solo. "Where it's building up and we all just come in? Let Zayn keep the lead until the chorus." 

"But he's already been leading those parts."

"Right," Harry says. "So Niall and I can come in and back him up. But don't let Louis in yet."

"Why?"

"Because we need him later."

"Okay," Liam assents. "Then the chorus?"

Harry opens his mouth, then frowns down at the vocals on the paper. "You know, this would actually be good opportunity for some interesting harmonies."

"Yeah?"

"But I don't reckon we're ready for that yet. So, Louis—" he points the pencil across the room in Louis' direction, though he doesn't look up from the paper. "—he needs to come in loud here and lead the chorus up until this part here—" Harry marks the paper a few lines down. "You all keep singing through the end, don't back down, and I'll belt these lines over you." He stares down at the song for a long moment, then nods. "That gives us four different voices leading with Niall rounding it out. It'll sound complex enough to be interesting without being technically too difficult."

He hands Liam his pencil back and then slides back down onto the floor to join Louis. It's only when it's been silent for a few moments that Harry looks up and sees the other four lads staring at him.

"I think it should work," Harry says, not sure whether they're staring in confusion or disagreement. "Since we're only doing one verse and one chorus, by adding us in individually we can make it like one big emotional crescendo."

"Oh my god, where did that come from, Harry?" Niall asks, laughter in his voice.

"That's perfect," Liam says, sounding stunned.

"I don't know, maybe give it a try first?" Harry says. He reaches over the computer in Louis' lap and presses play on the backing track.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wakes to someone maneuvering him onto his side.

"Hmm?" He blinks against the morning sunlight. "S'it time to get up?"

"No, love, sleep in a bit," Louis says as he extricates himself from their mess of bedding.

"A'right," he mumbles. He lets his eyes shut again as Louis tucks the blanket back up over his shoulders, then the bunkbed jostles when Louis jumps down.

As Harry starts to drift back into sleep, he can hear someone rustling through clothing behind him and hear the open and closing of the door to the en-suite.

And then he's suddenly awakened by a door slamming open and a loud, "And this is One Direction's room! Let's see if we can wake up those lazy boys."

From across the room, Harry hears Zayn's sleep-rough voice ask, "T'fuck is going on?"

Harry reluctantly lowers the duvet and turns to see Konnie standing in the doorway. From the other top bunk he meets Niall's eyes, looking as tired-confused as Harry feels.

Liam is rummaging through the suitcase on his bed. He's in shorts and looks like he's either going to or coming from a workout. Louis is stepping back in from the en-suite, a contact lens case in his hands.

"Er," Liam says. "What's going on?"

"We're waking you boys up," Konnie says, cheeky grin on her face as she walks into the room. The camera crew follows after her.

"I was awake," Liam protests. "I was just about to go work out."

"Well, that'll have to wait," she says. The camera pans around the messy room. "You've all got some skits to film."

"I think I liked you better on Blue Peter," Harry mumbles and falls back down onto his pillow.

 

 

Later that morning, all the contestants are waiting outside the London Dungeon for their turn to go in. Or, rather, they're waiting for fans to arrive so they can get filmed being mobbed by them before they go inside.

Louis' arms are wrapped around Harry's waist and Harry's leaning back against his comfy sweatshirt-clad chest. He's trying not to think about the screaming ghouls or blood-splattered executioners that await them inside.

"Tired, Hazza?" Louis asks.

"No," Harry says, but then he yawns. They were all up until the early morning making changes to their song.

"Aw, poor lad," Louis says. His words are mocking but his voice still tender. He tightens his arms around Harry. "Not much longer."

"Still can't believe they woke us up just to do those stupid impressions at arse o'clock," Zayn complains for at least the tenth time that morning.

"Otherwise known as half nine," Liam corrects, also for the tenth time.

Zayn grumbles something unflattering in his direction.

Then they're quiet for a moment. Liam types on his phone and Zayn scans the crowd as if he's looking for someone. Behind them, Harry hears Katie and Treyc complaining about how Rebecca got to visit home this week and no one else did.

Harry would turn around to remind them that Rebecca is the only one of them to have children, and young ones at that. But he's too comfortable where he is.

"Oi," Niall says as he bounds back up to them through the crowd of contestants. "Louis, remember that thing we did with Xtra Factor? Where you voted for Take That's new song?"

"Yes, Neil, I vaguely recall what we filmed a full hour ago," Louis says drily.

"Well," Niall says, undeterred. "Matt says Robbie Williams and one of the other ones were on the radio this morning and they said they were fans of us!"

"Really?" Zayn turns back to them.

"Huh," Liam says.

"Didn't they just get back together?" Harry asks. He thinks that happened around now. He doesn't actually remember if Take That is still together in 2018.

"Yeah, can you imagine, getting back together after being broken up for fifteen years?" Niall says. "Like, that's almost longer than I've been alive."

"Such a baby!" Louis coos.

"You reckon we'll ever break up?" Niall asks.

"Jesus, we've only been a group for, like, five minutes," Zayn protests. "Might not make it through another week here, even."

Louis reaches around Harry to smack Zayn upside the head. "'Course we're not going t'break up. We'll be still singing when we're seventy."

"When we're old and fat?" Niall laughs.

"Aye," Louis says. He leans in over Harry's shoulder. "Right, Curly?"

"Er, yeah," Harry echoes an agreement. He catches Liam looking in his direction and he looks away.

And that's when the fans finally arrive.

 

 

The next day, Harry and the other boys are positioned in their starting places on the steps on stage. Simon's sitting at the judge's desk, arms crossed over his chest. Sandeep is next to him in Cheryl's usual seat. Brian is off talking with Wagner across the auditorium, but Simon doesn't seem concerned that he's not here.

"You ready, boys?" 

They all exchange glances. None of them have told Sandeep or Simon that they've changed things around in the song. 

But Louis calls out, "Always, Uncle Simon!"

Simon chuckles and Sandeep shakes his head. Sandeep makes a gesture up at the techs in the control booth above the arena.

The beginning strains of Total Eclipse of the Heart come on. Liam lifts his mic up and starts singing.

 

 

When it's over, Simon's head is tilted to the side and Sandeep is looking at them with a furrow in his brow.

"That's much better than the last I heard you sing that song," Simon says. His smile is sharp. "You've been working hard practicing these past few days."

"That wasn't exactly how we practiced it, though," Sandeep points out.

"We wanted to change a couple parts around," Liam says. "Thought it would work better to hear all our voices."

Harry nods from next to him. The song still hadn't come out quite how they'd practiced it, though it was hard to tell between the lack of feedback from his in-ears and the echo of an almost empty auditorium. When he'd come in to back Zayn, he'd thought he seemed far too loud, and had tried to back off. It was odd since he usually has to put in the effort to sing over the other boys when he needs to, not the other way around.

"Well, it's an improvement," Simon says. He glances at the nearest camera as if to make sure it's on him, and then turns back to the group and says, "You went out on a limb and you trusted your instincts. That's what this is all about." He gives them a warm nod. "I had a feeling when I put you together that you would do great things and you're only proving me right."

But, when they're leaving the stage and the cameras filming, Simon comes up and says, "Perhaps we didn't make this clear enough, but you can't go and make changes without consulting me. Do this on a live show and we've certainly got a problem."

"I thought you liked the changes," Liam points out.

"You still need to consult me on them," Simon says. "It'll work out this time since it gives us some good clips for the camera. But never keep me out of the loop in the future."

 

 

Their practice time had apparently been scheduled for when the food was delivered. By the time they get to the catering table backstage, they're the last ones and subject to only the dregs of leftover sandwiches.

Niall immediately grabs a sandwich for each hand, but Louis is looking through each of them, nose wrinkling.

"These are all cucumber," he complains.

"Just touch them all, then, why don't you," Liam says snappishly. He reaches over Louis to grab one for himself.

"I'm trying to find something with at least a minimum of nutrition in it," Louis sniffs. But finally settles on a cucumber one in resignation.

Harry picks a sandwich up, but when he sees what it is, he hands it out to Louis. "Here, trade me, Lou. This one's cheese."

"Ah, there we go," Louis says with a sigh. "Finally a minimum of nutrition."

Harry hands him a bag of crisps to go with it and takes an orange and a water for himself.

They settle down by an empty makeup area. Liam and Zayn take chairs and Niall sits happily on the floor munching loudly. Louis sits on the make-up counter with his legs crossed in a way that stretches his already snug trousers over his thighs.

Harry carefully looks away as he leans back against the wall. It's enough, he reminds himself, that his boy is by his side again. He doesn't have to have him in that way; isn't certain that having him in that way would be the right thing for Louis anyways.

"So, was Simon happy or angry?" Zayn asks. "I couldn't even tell."

"Both? Neither? I don't know," Harry says. He tears off a chunk of rind in his fumbling attempt at peeling his orange. "Something was different, though. It didn't sound like how we practiced."

"I thought that was just me!" Niall exclaims through a mouthful of crisps.

"Isn't it just that we're here?" Louis asks. He holds out his hand to help Harry collect the pieces of his orange peel. "Everything sounds different when we're up on stage."

"Is it them doing pitch corrections again?" Liam looks at Harry. "Would we even hear that?"

"Probably not," Harry says. "Can't really tell how we'd sound to the audience. Our in-ears here are the worst."

"Because you've used so many of them, you snob," Louis smirks and elbows him in the ribs.

"Oi!" Harry elbows him back. But he can't help a smile at Louis' sparkling eyes.

Not all venues are set up with equal quality monitoring, but in the future their own crew would usually get it working well enough. And, well, Harry's coming off a stadium tour these past few months. When tens of thousands of people pay for tickets to a single show, you get the best quality everything. So Harry thinks he's being quite fair, all things considered.

"I'm not complaining that our in-ears aren't custom-molded or something," he protests. "And we don't really need, like, a live stream from the crowd here, but they're not even giving us what's coming out of the speakers. Just, like, the bare minimum of backing music to keep us on time."

"They do a crap job of that, too," Zayn mutters. It brings back to Harry a vague memory of Zayn having trouble with that.

"How do you even know all that?" Niall asks Harry.

Harry hesitates because he doesn't have a good excuse. Liam catches his eyes and raises his eyebrows as if he thinks now is a perfect time for Harry to tell the rest of them the truth. But Harry shakes his head resolutely and silently wills Liam to go along with it.

Liam sighs but manages to cover for Harry with a reluctant, "Didn't you use them with your old band?"

Harry can't think of a better reason so he just says, "Yeah," and hopes the boys don't know that it would have been ridiculous for White Eskimo, who'd gotten to play a total of 3 performances for audiences that weren't just their families, to invest in any sort of monitoring system.

"It did seem like the song sounded off, though," Niall says thoughtfully. "Even if Simon said it was okay."

"We need to figure it out, then, and fix it," Liam says.

"Anyone know the way to the control booth?" Harry asks, looking at Louis.

Louis huffs. "Who do you take me for, Mr Styles? Someone who hasn't scoped out the building for the best hiding spots?"

 

 

"Oi, Harry, I was hoping we could talk—" Cher starts saying as they pass by her in the hall. 

Harry stops involuntarily. He's been maybe, possibly avoiding her this past week. Last time around, they were friends — or at least, Harry had thought so when they'd fallen together as the two youngest in the house.

But this time he's more cautious. He doesn't really want a repeat of the time she'd tried to make a move on him by grabbing for his crotch. And then yelled at him for leading her on.

"Sorry, Lloyd, got to go!" Louis grabs Harry's arm.

"Where?" she demands.

"Top secret boy band business!" Louis yells behind them as they run down the hallway.

Once he's apparently judged they're sufficiently far enough away, and they're almost caught up with the rest of the boys, Louis slows down the pace.

"So, why're we avoiding the lovely Miss Lloyd?" Louis asks. "She provides stiff competition, but she's not the craziest of the crazy here."

"Er, because I know she wants — I mean, I think she wants — to be something more than friends," Harry says.

"Well, obviously," Louis says. He reaches over to pat Harry's hair. "Who isn't charmed by our young Harold and his curls?"

Harry chokes out a laugh.

"But, don't worry, we'll protect you from any and all nefarious advances."

Harry grins at him. "Thanks, Lou."

 

 

"Trevor, my man," Zayn says loudly, and one of the two men in the control booth above the arena takes off his headphones and chuckles as he gives Zayn a fist-bump. "We need a favor."

 

 

Zayn convinces them to play them back what they've recorded of their performance. 

They wait in the booth until Mary is done with her sound check and when there's a break before the next act, Zayn convinces the techs to play back what they'd recorded of their performance. The one tech — Trevor, apparently — brings up an audio file on the computer. It's the last one they'd recorded and will end up going on iTunes for sale after the show tomorrow.

Harry closes his eyes to focus on the singing. There isn't as much pitch correction as last time but, by the time he opens his eyes again at the end of the song, he's shaking his head.

"Wasn't my imagination then, was it?" Niall says. "It's really different, isn't it?"

"I'm too loud," Harry says, glancing at both the sound techs, then back at the other boys. "I could hear it when I came in and I tried to back off up until my last lines. Why am I still so loud?"

"I couldn't hear Louis," Liam says. He turns accusing eyes on him. "Were you not even singing?"

"What else would I be doing up there?" Louis snaps defensively. "'Course I was singing, you knob."

Harry glances at the mixing board in front of them and asks, "How much did you boost my mic?"

The techs glance at each other. 

"We're not supposed to be talking about this," the second tech protests. And it takes until Matt is coming onto the stage for him to warm up enough to them — well, to Niall's charm, really — to talk.

He sums it up when he points to Zayn and says, "You're too quiet—"

"And the girl fans like your voice, apparently," Trevor cuts in with a smirk.

The other tech points at Louis. "And your voice stands out far too much, mate."

And then he points at Harry. "And you're supposed to be the leader."

They stand firm against Harry's insistence that they bring his and Louis' mics back to their baseline volumes. (He doesn't ask for Zayn's to be changed, because no one's going to argue he doesn't have a beautiful voice — or that he's not too quiet.)

"Simon'd have our heads," Zayn's friend says apologetically.

 

 

"It's probably better this way," Louis insists. They're in one the X Factor vans that night on their way to Tinie Tempah's show. "Harry's voice is aces, they're right to show it off. And Liam doesn't need help for his solo to stand out."

"Lou—" Harry starts.

"Look," Louis interrupts him. The planes of his face are outlined in the lights of passing cars. "Niall can maybe get a solo in the next song. But, for me, I don't mind. I know my voice isn't what anyone's looking for. Not sure how I ended up in this group, really, but I'm just happy to be here with you lot."

The worst part is, he seems to mean it.

"That's bollocks," Zayn says.

"Yeah, what the hell?" Niall laughs like he half-thinks Louis must be joking. "'Course you're meant to be here."

"Thanks, lads, but—" Louis starts.

Liam is staring across the seat at Louis. He says, "Isn't that the whole point? That your voice is different than anyone else's?"

"Yeah, Lou, you're wrong," Harry says firmly. He squeezes Louis' thigh. "So wrong. And Simon's wrong — he's wrong about a lot of things, yeah? But definitely wrong about turning down your mic."

Louis' eyes raise to his and he looks like he's still going to protest.

"No," Harry stops him. "Didn't we all agree the song didn't sound right today?"

"But—"

"It's because we couldn't hear you."

The driver pulls up in front of the theatre as the other boys echo their agreement.

 

 

They sign a few autographs before they're let inside. Someone gives Harry a poster with poorly glued down glitter. Louis promptly snatches it and shakes it above the other boys' heads, making their hair sparkle.

"For fashion!" Louis yells and cackles gleefully as he darts away from where Liam's trying to grab the poster away.

Later, they're dancing on stage next to Tinie Tempah in the strobe lights and flashes of cameras. Zayn is holding the tall Belle Amie girl's hips as she dances with much more coordination than any of them. The glitter on Niall's white hair is sparkling in the flashes of lights. Louis pretends to teach Niall dance moves that don't even make sense and then he spins Mary around as she shakes her hips and then he grabs for Harry's hands.

He whirls Harry around and Harry laughs and laughs as he ends up with his back pressed against Louis' front. Louis holds Harry close to him as they sway to the music. They're in the far side of the stage, away from the video cameras, so Harry tangles his fingers with Louis' and pushes back against him, so Louis is not-quite grinding against him.

"Having fun, love?" Louis asks, lips close to his ear.

Harry nods fervently.

He can't remember the last time he's danced with Louis in public. For a while they could still find out-of-the-way clubs in obscure countries, places where they wouldn't be recognized and places where no one would care that two boys were dancing together. But that time hadn't lasted long and the powers in charge had started waving the 'image' clauses of their contracts at them every time they got within three feet of each other.

Louis spins Harry around again to face him.

He holds Harry's head in his hands and Harry lets his own hands grip Louis by his hips, dig into his hipbones. Louis leans in and, for a crazy moment, Harry thinks Louis might be about to kiss him.

But then he whispers — or, rather, yells — over the music, "Why aren't you off charming all the girls here, love? Could have any of 'em, you know."

Harry tugs him closer and leans in to say, "Don't want any of the girls, Lou."

Louis pulls back and meets his eyes in the flashes of lights. There's something in his eyes, something—

But then Harry catches a glance over Louis' shoulder at Liam across the stage. He's dancing in a small group with Niall and Aiden and Cher. They're close to the edge of the stage and Harry suddenly remembers what happened last time. He jerks out of Louis' arms and dodges the other contestants to get over to him.

Harry grabs his arm and tries to drag him back from the edge. But it doesn't matter.

There's a loud crash, and the buzz from an upturned speaker, as Liam stumbles backward off the stage.

 

 

Harry watches in defeat as Liam limps out of the theatre, arms slung around Zayn and Louis and wincing in pain with each step.

On the ride back, Nick's voice comes over the radio saying, "And now it's time for what you've all been waiting for: '1000 Albums Everyone Says You Should Listen To But We Only Have Time To Play One Track So Here It Is.'"

It's the wrong time. Harry's Nick should be on the Breakfast Show. But this voice belongs to a Nick Grimshaw who doesn't even know who Harry is yet. Whose number Harry doesn't even have. Who Harry can't just call whine at until Nick does something ridiculous to cheer him up.

This Nick finishes up a joke about how BBC Radio 1 probably won't keep him on long enough to make it all the way through the thousand albums.

Harry glances over at Louis, where he's poking at Liam's shoulder incessantly, apparently trying to annoy him into forgetting he's in pain.

Leonard Cohen's crooning voice crackles through the radio: " _I've been running through these promises to you. That I made and I could not keep_." 

 

 

"Congratulations, boys," Naveen says. It's their media training session the next day and they're in one of the back offices at Fountain Studios, seated in a small circle of rickety plastic chairs. "We opened your official One Direction twitter account."

"That's grand," Niall says. But his usual enthusiasm is blunted and even the leftover glitter on his hoodie isn't sparkling as brightly as it should. They're all more subdued than usual this morning, with Liam missing at the doctor's.

Naveen smiles back at Niall, though, and turns his iPad around to show them. The tiny profile picture is one of all the boys from the X Factor promo shots.

There's a single tweet on the page but Harry only glances at it. He's too busy trying to pretend he doesn't recognize the man from their future P.R. team. Naveen is younger looking than he remembers. His hair is longer, his watch not as expensive.

"We've also got your personal twitters verified," Naveen says as he pulls up the links to show the check marks next to their names.

Louis leans forward to see the screen, then looks around at them all. "This is it, lads. Nowhere to go but down from here."

"Now," Naveen says. "We'll just need the passwords to your accounts."

"Why?" Zayn asks as the man passes him a paper and pen.

"We can help you with updates when you're too busy. The fans need to be kept constantly engaged."

"That's not part of our contract, is it?" Harry finally speaks. "Like, we don't have to give you them, if we don't want to, right?"

"I don't believe it's spelled out in your X Factor contract, no. But—"

"I'll keep updating it myself, then," Harry says, wrapping his arms around himself. Even if he'd wanted to give it up, there's no possible way he can write 'HarryTomlinson' out on that paper.

"The only thing you've posted in over a week was a tweet about eggs," Naveen points out to him.

"Oh, was that about the fry-up the other day?" Niall asks. "That was good."

"It's a song. Dean Martin," Harry says. "A classic."

"And how many of your fans do you think even know that is?"

"Did you know," Harry continues. "That he had a different name but changed it to Dean Martin because Americans didn't think much of Italians?"

"Can't say I did know that, but that's not the point—" Naveen starts. Harry opens his mouth to protest but Naveen continues before he can speak, "The point is, the fans need to be engaged on at least a daily basis if you're going to succeed. Engaged with topics that are relevant to them."

"I'll post more, then," Harry says. And adds, "Relevant topics, too."

Naveen stares at him for a long moment and then sighs and turns to the other boys. "All right. Now, if the rest of you can write down your passwords, we'll just do a quick refresher on social media etiquette."

Zayn still has the pen poised over the paper, but he shoots Harry a look, and then passes it on to Louis without writing anything.

"I'll update my own, too," he says.

Naveen narrows his eyes at them. "It's really better if you let us do our jobs. We're here to help you succeed. It's not as if we'll be posting anything that you wouldn't have said if you had the time."

Zayn doesn't move to take back the paper, though. Louis glances between Zayn and Harry, then says, "I reckon I'll be able to keep it up meself, too."

He passes the paper on to Niall, who then hands it back to Naveen.

Harry thinks he can count the blank paper as a small victory, even if he knows in the end it will be futile gesture.

 

 

Not long after that, Harry is exiting the gents' when he catches sight of Liam hopping up to the front doors on a pair of crutches.

He hurries over to hold the door open and says, "I'm really sorry, Li."

"Why are you sorry?"

Harry looks meaningfully down at where Liam's ankle is all bandaged.

"You didn't make me trip."

"I didn't stop it, either. I tried, but—"

"Wait, I sprained my ankle last time, too?" Liam asks. "Is that what you mean?"

Before Harry can answer, they're accosted by shouts of three over-excited boys.

Harry steps aside and can't help a wistful smile at the subsequent group hug that threatens to topple Liam over.

He hadn't even decided what he should do now that he's had the chance to do it all over. What he should change. But, between Simon thwarting his attempt at getting the group on track and Liam hurting his ankle despite Harry's best effort, he's wondering if he'll even be able to change anything meaningfully.

Even last week, with how Harry had messed up his part of their song, with the auto-tuning they probably hadn't sounded any different than the first time they'd sung Nobody Knows.

Maybe he can change what he says and does in the moment but as soon as he looks away everything goes back to being the way it was.

For all that he'd been worrying about ruining things, the thought that he can't change anything is even worse.

Louis comes up to him, clearly having noticed that Harry's missing from the group hug.

"All right there, Hazza?" he asks, tugging at one of his curls.

And Harry says he's fine, even as he wonders if he needs to resign himself to years of watching Louis get hurt all over again. If the only difference is that, this time around, he'll know exactly what's happening.

 

 

But then they film the TalkTalk Q&A.

 

 

"And so I was starting to think, maybe I can't really change anything, after all. Like everything is going to happen the same way no matter what." 

"Weren't you the one who rang me last week in a panic that you _were_ going to change things?" Gemma asks.

"Not changing anything would be so much worse, though," he says.

She had called him to make sure he wasn't too anxious before the show tonight, seeing as how their mum and Robin wouldn't be there and she'd been made to stay up at her uni despite her plans to come down.

"Are you saying you didn't just travel back in time to relive the glory of your youth?" Gemma teases, and Harry can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

" _Anyways_ ," Harry says. He settles into one of the chairs at the back of the still-empty auditorium. "Then we did the Talk-Talk Q&A."

"The what?"

"The Talk-Talk — never mind, it's just one of those things they put online. It's not a big deal," Harry says. "The thing is, I've forgotten most of the day to day stuff. So I couldn't tell you if they were happening the same or not."

"All right."

"I mean, if you went back to a random day when you were — wait, how old are you now? You must be nineteen, right?"

"Harry."

"If it was like a random day when you were eleven years old, you wouldn't remember how things went spot on, right? But this Q&A I remember really well because I'd still thought that Aiden was gay back then. And, I mean, even if I'd known he wasn't, who wouldn't be a little gay for Louis, anyways?"

There's a muffled laugh on the other end of the phone and Gemma says, "Good to hear that eight years on that crush is still going strong."

"Anyways," Harry raises his voice to talk over her. They've chatted a few times this week, but he hasn't mentioned Louis yet. It's too complicated to even know how to begin. "See, last time, a thing happened. And Louis and I had finally sort of made up from that and we were back to normal. But it was before, um, things changed, you know?"

"No, H, of course I don't know. You're not making even a bit of sense."

"Right, well," Harry rallies. "The point is, I remember this Q&A really well because Louis was sitting in Aiden's lap the whole time."

Gemma snorts a laugh.

"And I couldn't even look away to be distracted because Wagner was on my other side being all creepy," Harry continues. "But this time — and it wasn't like I even tried to change anything. I hadn't even known it was today — but when I came in the room, Louis was sitting alone on the chair and Aiden was on the sofa. And Matt was there instead of Wagner."

"So you did change something," Gemma says. "Or you're just still delusional and having delusions of time-travel somehow don't give you the ability to predict the future."

"Shut up," Harry says. And then adds, with no small amount of pride, "And Louis made me sit in front of him and he played with my hair the whole time."

After a long moment, Gemma says, "Look, H, I researched a few theories on time travel and cause and effect—"

"You did?" Harry asks in disbelief.

"Have you heard of the butterfly effect?" she asks.

"I don't think I saw that film."

"Not a film, you uneducated heathen," she says. "It's a theory that even tiny changes end up magnifying and can cause a big impact. Like, a butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil and then there's a tornado in Texas."

"So..." Harry says. "You're saying I'm going to cause a tornado."

"I mean that changing one small thing can end up changing a lot of things," she says.

"Huh. You know what that also means?"

"What?"

"If you spent time looking all that up, it means you believe me," he says triumphantly. 

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," she tells him, but Harry laughs. "So, what's this about Louis Tomlinson? Think this is about the longest you've gone without talking my ears off about him."

"Er, I think I hear Simon calling us," Harry says.

"Harry—"

"Sorry, have to go, Gems!" And he hangs up.

Because maybe he can't figure out how to talk about Louis right now, but, also, he has a song to change.

 

 

Liam hobbles in on his crutches, Niall at his side. They've got their make-up on, eyes rimmed in red liner and there's a slash of fake blood down Liam's neck. Katie is singing now and there are still another two more acts before they're supposed to go on.

Harry glances at where Louis, Zayn and Aiden are laughing over something on one of their phones. Louis' back is turned to him and so it's the perfect time for Harry to intercept Liam and Niall.

"I'm going to switch mics with Louis," Harry says as he pulls over a chair. Niall helps to steady his crutches as Liam sits down.

"What?" Niall asks. "Why?"

"We need his voice on the chorus."

"And so you're just going to switch mics with him?" Liam asks. "Does he know about this?"

"Not precisely."

Niall snorts. "Louis practically worships you. He'll never let you take the mic that's turned off."

"It's not completely off," Harry argues. "But, I know, and that's why I can't tell him. That, and if he knows too far ahead of time that his sound's going to be turned way up, he'll overthink it and then he'll be off."

"Why are you telling us, then?" Liam asks.

"Because we're a team, right? We shouldn't have secrets from each other," Harry says. And then he admits, "And it could go wrong."

"But it could go really right," Niall says, looking all but won over.

If there was more time or Liam was a little less stressed, Harry is sure he'd have something to say about Harry's remark about secrets. But Liam had looked tense enough with nerves before Harry dropped this on him, so instead he just argues, "It definitely could go wrong, though."

"So you two need to have Louis' back," Harry says.

"Course we will!" Niall promises.

"Simon warned us not to change anything else without talking to him," Liam reminds them. 

Harry shrugs.

"And what about you?" Liam continues. "Maybe Louis' mic isn't completely off, but hardly no one's going to hear you. And your part's more important than Louis', anyway."

It's not like Harry isn't worried about that. He's a lot stronger singer than sixteen year old him, even without the benefit of years of working on his lung capacity. But Louis' mic was turned really far down. "I reckon I can compensate?"

Liam looks off to where Louis and Zayn are still standing in the group of other contestants. He's silent in thought for long enough that Harry is afraid he's going to refuse to do it. Even if they hadn't sounded how they'd wanted to sound on the recording, they still hadn't sounded bad. He might not think it's worth the risk.

But when Liam turns back, it's to say, "The choreography. Niall and I are on either side of you."

"Right," Harry says. He's positioned in the center of the group, which is blatant, really. Especially seeing as Liam is taking the lead on the song.

"We'll stand closer, then," Liam says. "We can angle our mics towards you—"

"And then they'll will pick you up, too," Niall finishes. "That'll work, right?"

 

 

A few minutes later, Niall is dragging Louis and Zayn out of the group of other contestants and saying, "So, Brian just told me he wants to change the choreography a little. Wanted me to pass it along."

Zayn glances over at where they can see the audience. And see where Brian is sitting in the front row.

"I mean," Niall tries again. "He told me a while ago but I just now remembered to tell you?"

"What is it, then?" Louis asks. The red eyeliner makes his eyes look wider than usual. He stops next to Harry and Harry feels him tug at his belt loop.

"When we stand up and start walking, he doesn't want us to spread out so far," Niall explains.

They'd realized that if only the middle three of them are standing closer together, with Louis and Zayn still further out, it won't look right.

"In fact," Niall says. "Brian wants us to keep really close together. Shoulder to shoulder. Touching, even."

"He didn't say that close," Liam interjects.

"Almost," Niall insists.

"All right." Louis shrugs and reaches out to adjust the collar of Harry's polo shirt.

Zayn doesn't argue but he's still giving Niall a suspicious look.

 

 

As they're about to go on, Harry comes up to Louis, holds out his own microphone, and says, "Here, Lou, found your mic."

Cher is walking off the stage to cheers from the audience. Louis looks at the microphone in Harry's hand, then down at the one he's already holding, and raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, you've got one! That must be mine, then." Harry is sure he even more suspicious-sounding than Niall was with the choreography. But he still manages to snatch the mic from Louis and shove his own into his hands before Louis can stop him.

Louis opens his mouth, looking like he's going to argue, but Dermot's voice comes out loud over the speakers with, "Next up is One Direction!"

And then the monitors in the auditorium start to play their usual flashback clips and the assistants are pushing the boys back into their proper formation and it's too late.

Harry glances at Louis, whose knuckles are gripping his microphone a little too tight. He meets Harry's gaze, eyes are narrowed unhappily. But Harry just offers him a supportive smile and thumbs up.

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 4 - [Total Eclipse of the Heart](https://youtu.be/xcLwZehjrV8?t=79)


	4. Chapter 4

One Direction @onedirection • 30 Oct 2010  
Hello everyone! from the One Direction boys. x

 

 

"How do you even blink with those on?" Niall asks as he throws a crisp into his mouth.

"Quiet, boy." Matt raps Niall on the shoulder with the remote.

On his other side, Katie is sitting tense on the edge of the sofa, twisting her hands in her lap.

Harry turns back to the TV, where she's on-stage in a white wig and giant pasted-on white eyelashes, singing about being bewitched. Or bewitching someone. It's not quite clear.

Katie-on-TV's not halfway through her song when their Katie abruptly stands up and says, "I just can't — I can't —" And then runs out of the room.

It leaves just Matt, Cher, Harry and the other boys, and Geneva who's sitting in Zayn's lap, sharing a beer. Liam's next to Harry on one of the sofas and Louis is sitting on the carpet alone. He's tense, arms wrapped around his knees and back against one of the vacated chairs. It's so wrong to see him alone, not within even feet of touching anyone, but Harry knows him too well and everything in his body language is saying stay away.

On-screen Katie finishes her song with a flourish. As the camera turns to the judges, Matt swaps his beer for the remote and skips forward. It had taken the contestants four weeks of complaining to get a plus box set up in the house so they didn't have to wait until the recaps were posted online.

Except Matt, Belle Amie's lone representative and Cher, who was on last, all the other contestants have left. Matt has stayed as the self-appointed leader of the re-watching and offering compliments and hugs to everyone after their performances were shown. Well, hugs to everyone except the three contestants — now four — who fled the room before their performances had finished. And Wagner, who had gone missing before they'd even found their rides back.

"Ready, boys?" Matt asks as he pauses the TV after the rapping dairy farmers advert.

"Yeah, let's do it!" Niall says, rubbing his hands together.

Harry feels anxious in a way he hasn't in a long time and watches with his fist pressed over his mouth. He knows that anything that went wrong was on him, and the changes he'd had them make. 

When the chorus ends he glances over at Louis, who's looking even more tense than before. He meets Harry's eyes for a split second before looking away.

On-screen, the cheers of the crowd finally lessen, and the camera goes from their mess of a five-person hug to where the spotlight is trained on the Judges' Desk.

"That was not too bad an effort with the song, boys," Louis Walsh says, then turns to look at Simon at the other end of the table. "But, what I really want to know is, what was going on with the microphones?"

Simon just raises his eyebrows.

The camera goes back to the stage where Dermot's turning to Liam for an answer.

"We noticed Harry's mic didn't seem to be working," Liam says. There's still fake blood is dripping down his neck. "So Niall and I helped him out."

"Well, it's impressive you managed a passable performance despite the technical difficulties," Louis Walsh says.

"Passable?" Simon cuts in. "I reckon that was a little more than passable."

"I agree. It's good to see you more confident in your singing — all of you, really," Dannii says. "You all still have work to do but you've shown real improvement this week."

"You know, I think this is the first time we've really been able to hear you, Louis," Cheryl says next. Her dangling earrings sparkle in the spotlights. "You have quite a nice voice, don't you, love?"

The camera turns to Louis, who is staring back at the Judges' Desk, hands gripping his mic tightly. His straight hair falls over his forehead and his blue eyes are wide, rimmed with the red eyeliner. Harry still isn't sure whether they were supposed to be vampires or victims of vampires.

The camera pauses on Louis a moment too long, probably waiting for him to say something into Dermot's mic, but when he doesn't, it goes back to the Judges' Desk.

Simon leans back in his chair, tapping his pen as he looks at the boys on stage. After a long moment, he says, "You know, working together to make changes like that in the middle of a performance is something that is far beyond any group who's been on this show."

The camera goes back to the group, where they're standing, arms around each other's shoulders, in front of the backdrop of swirling of sparkling blue lights. Louis' tension is all the more obvious by the way Zayn and Niall on either side of him are grinning ecstatically. Liam has a cautious smile on his face. Harry cringes at how obvious it is that he himself, in baggy-trousers and ill-fitting cardigan and barely-tamed hair, is staring across the other boys at Louis.

He'd resisted the temptation to go straight to Louis for a hug when the song was over, but it won't take a hardcore fan to notice where his attention is. 

"I'm proud of you boys," Simon is saying, camera back on him. "You have proven time and time again in this competition that you've got something special. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, but this is going to be the year that the groups finally win."

Dermot ushers the boys off-stage to the cheers of the crowd, Liam hobbling in between Niall and Zayn.

"Jesus Christ," Zayn says when the clip ends.

"Well done, lads," Matt says, giving all of them a friendly smile. He scratches at his scruff and tells him good-naturedly, "You're some stiff competition."

"It was good, yeah?" Liam asks, eyes on Harry. "It wasn't exactly like we'd practiced but turned out all right, didn't it?"

It's hard, knowing what each of them can do eight years from now, and comparing that to seeing them all so young and new.

All their voices except Niall's — who was all on support since they'd swapped the lines Sandeep had assigned him to Zayn — were distinct. The sound techs had cut back on the auto-tune and Zayn and Harry, in a welcome contrast to the last week, were the only ones who were on pitch the whole time. Even Liam had gone off a little when he'd tried to up the volume on his last part of his solo. Which was something Harry had encouraged him to do.

But, still, it was —

"Good, yeah." Harry finally exhales. "It was good."

"Fuck yeah, it was." Niall slaps Harry on the back.

Harry looks over at Louis who still hasn't said anything. He looks brittle, like he might shatter with the slightest touch.

"Lou," Harry says, trying to give him an encouraging smile. "You were—"

"You were grand, mate! That was totally worth it," Niall says. He jumps up over to Louis and plops himself down beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Harry watches Louis exhale a shaky breath.

"What was that with your mics, though?" Matt tilts his head. "That didn't look like a spur of the moment thing."

"Just trying to draw attention to yourselves, yeah?" Cher says. She sounds like she probably meant it to come out as a joke but it falls short.

"Yeah, I'd like to know, too," Zayn says. He shoots them an accusing look as he passes the beer bottle to Geneva.

Louis says, looking down at his hands, "Harry switched his with mine."

"We found out in sound check," Liam explains to Matt. "They turned Zayn and Harry's mics way up and turned down Louis'. Harry had the idea to switch them right before we went on."

"You didn't tell me you were going to do that," Louis says. He glances up at Harry, eyes tense at the edges.

Harry says, "We needed your voice, Lou."

"And you wouldn't've let him if you did know, would you have?" Niall points out.

"Course I wouldn't. You dickheads didn't even give me a chance to say no," Louis says, unfolding himself and standing up. His voice gets louder, angrier and he glares around at all of them. "Fuck. Why the hell would you do that, Harry? Why the hell did you lot let him? I could have fucked it up for all of us."

"But you didn't, mate," Liam is the one to interject. "Not at all. Didn't you hear what Cheryl said?"

But Louis has already fled the room.

There's a long moment of silence as they all look around at each other.

"Er," Harry says, starting to stand up. "I'm going to see if he's all right?"

"Yeah, mate," Niall says.

 

 

Harry doesn't find Louis. 

He has to give up eventually when it's getting late and all the other contestants have burned off the adrenaline of the show and gone to bed.

He knows from too much experience that when Louis doesn't want to be found, he can't be.

So Harry slips under the blankets of their bunk alone and resigns himself to his first night sleeping alone since he's been back here. He remembers the first time they'd slept next to each other. It had been during that week at Robin's bungalow. They'd all been sleeping on the floor of the living room and, despite both being zipped into separate sleeping bags, they had ended up with their arms around each other when they woke up the next morning. And the next morning. And then the third night Harry had suggested they might as well zip their sleeping bags together. And so they did.

And then just kept sleeping together. From Judges' Houses to when Louis had stayed over at Harry's to the X Factor house, they'd always ended up in each other's arms in the morning, no matter where they went to sleep.

It seems unbelievable now that anyone had ever thought that was normal platonic behavior between good mates. But eight years ago Louis was too busy believing he was straight and Harry was too busy pining and the other boys hadn't questioned that it was just an inevitable law of the universe that Harry would always end up in Louis' arms in the morning.

 

 

Harry doesn't think he'll sleep when he's this worried about where Louis is and what he's telling himself, but he must drift off because he's startled awake by a jostling of the bunkbed.

"Sorry, sorry," he hears Louis whisper. Harry can barely make him out in the dark night, barely any light coming in through the loft window.

"Lou, come here," Harry says, he shifts over to make Louis space in his usual place against the wall.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Louis whispers as he crawls in where Harry's pulled the blanket up in invitation.

"Want you to always wake me," Harry says, he can hear his voice hoarse with sleep.

He wraps the other side of the blanket around Louis and settles in beside him. Harry suddenly feels how cold he is under his thin t-shirt.

"You're so cold," Harry says.

"M'fine," Louis says even as Harry runs a hand down the goosebumped skin of his bare arm. "Was just outside."

"I'll make you a tea," Harry offers, but Louis keeps him from leaving.

"Nay," he says. "Just stay."

Harry hesitates, but doesn't truly want to leave Louis, anyways. So he settles back in next him in the narrow bed. His own bare torso is pressed against Louis' and there's only the fabric of Louis' old t-shirt between them. Harry rubs a hand up and down Louis' back, trying to warm him.

There's a moment of silence and then, "Why?"

That's all he says, but Harry knows what he's asking.

"Because I love —" he stumbles over the words. "Your voice. I love your voice."

"Hazza—"

Harry cuts him off before he can protest with, "Lou, it wasn't fair. It was wrong what Simon was doing to you. You're so amazing and so talented. And I wanted everyone to know that."

Louis exhales.

"I wanted you to know that, too," Harry adds quietly.

He feels Louis shake his head against his shoulder.

"I know you're angry," Harry says.

"M'just — yeah, I am angry," Louis says, after a moment. But he finally wraps his arms around Harry's waist, returning his tight hug. "Simon had my mic turned down for a reason. Could've fucked it all up and it'd've been my fault if we didn't make it."

"But you didn't," Harry whispers back.

"I—"

"You didn't," Harry insists, he digs his fingers into the lean muscle of Louis' back, willing him to believe it. "You heard us downstairs. We sounded so much better than at sound check."

Louis had come into the pre-chorus with some hesitation and he wasn't as strong a singer as Harry knows he can be but by the time he'd been supposed to lead the chorus, he'd done it. He'd done it.

"Do we need to go downstairs and watch it again?" Harry asks.

Louis laughs softly into his shoulder. "S'alright, Hazza."

Harry lets the subject drop. He resumes rubbing his hand up and down Louis' back. He's warming up, but he's still too cold.

"What were you even doing outside so long?" Harry asks.

"Mostly playing Angry Birds on Zayn's phone," Louis says. "Got stuck on the aeroplane level and reckoned it was time t'come back in."

Harry barks out a laugh and slaps a hand over his mouth. He guiltily looks over his shoulder into the dark room hoping he didn't wake the other boys.

He can feel Louis' muffled giggles into his shoulder and Harry slaps at his shoulder lightly.

"Shuttup," he hisses at him, even as he tries to stop himself from giggling along.

"Sorry, love," Louis gets out. "You hafta learn how to be quiet."

 

 

Harry wakes up the next morning to the buzz of his phone buried under his pillow. He rubs at a tickle in his nose. Sunlight is bright in the room and none of the other boys are there. He unlocks his phone and — oh — 

There is a photo of himself. Probably from just minutes ago. The side of his face is pressed into the pillow, his mouth is open unattractively wide, his hair is a frizzy mess of curls and there's a nice spot on his cheek.

There are also two kitchen straws in his nostrils, which means he and Louis must be okay again.

He makes Harry the Walrus, as he's captioned in Louis' text message, the new background picture on his phone.

 

 

They make it through to the next week.

Belle Amie and Katie Waissel end up in the bottom two. The judges split their votes, it goes to deadlock, and Belle Amie, with the fewest public votes, are sent home.

 

 

The boys have been waiting, fidgety and nervous, in Simon Cowell's waiting room for a good half hour now and he hasn't arrived yet. The strange thing isn't that he's not there to meet then — it's still barely past eleven and Harry knows Simon rarely wakes before noon — but that there are no camera crews waiting with them.

Harry asks out loud, "Why aren't there any camera crews here today?"

Simon's assistant, without looking up from her desk, answers, "Too busy to be with you today."

Which doesn't sit right, because Simon hardly ever misses an opportunity to be in front of the X Factor cameras. And Harry remembers how the camera crews tend to follow the boys around, anyways. At any given time at least one of the five of them is likely getting up to some sort of hijinks or, if not, at least willing to tape a spur of the moment advert.

Harry glances around at the other boys. Everyone else has their phones out. Next to him, Liam's updating his twitter with a serious look on his face. Zayn's is on Liam's other side, staring blearily at the screen as he repeatedly runs his hands through and then smoothes down his hair. Louis is perched on the arm of the sofa next to Harry, kicking idly at where Liam's crutches are propped against the wall. Niall is tapping his fingers in a twitchy rhythm on the arm of his chair.

Harry should probably update his twitter, too, after the fuss he made about not giving out his password. But the anxiety in the room is too palpable for him to come up with anything upbeat for the fans. 

They're all too aware of how Simon, except for a few brief words on-camera, hasn't spoken to them after they'd defied him with the changes in their performance Saturday. Harry doesn't know how rigged the results truly are — but, in any case, they'll be safe for a while if the fan votes count for anything and if only Simon's vote counts, since he won't want to be the only judge without a group now that Belle Amie's gone.

But Harry's also more aware than most people of just how much power Simon can wield.

There nothing he can do about it right now, though. So he's just pulling his iPod out of his hoodie pocket when Liam breaks the silence.

"Did you all see this article in the Telegraph from yesterday?"

"What article?" Niall asks.

"Here." Liam straightens up. "Someone retweeted it to me. They predicted Belle Amie would be voted off, said they jinxed themselves when they started their song in coffins. Suppose they were right."

He pauses and glances at Zayn. He must realize that may not be the most sensitive thing to read off when Zayn's — well, whatever Geneva was, Zayn's snogging parnter? — had to pack up and leave with the rest of the girl group today.

"Sorry," Liam says sheepishly.

Zayn just shrugs.

"They also call Wagner's song a 'demented melody'," Liam offers. And then pauses he scrolls down on his phone. Harry thinks the accusation is apt enough. "They said Katie was like Lady Gaga. They didn't like Aiden singing Thriller but they thought Cher and Matt did well."

He scrolls down some more and then stops and says, "Wait. Did you know that Shayne Ward said we were miming?"

Harry hadn't remembered that, but it's hardly the only thing Shayne's said about them over the years.

"What?" Zayn snaps.

"Arsehole," Louis says. "They say anything else about us?"

"Anything nice about us?" Niall asks.

Liam looks down at his phone again. "Well, they say that he's obviously wrong after — they're calling it our 'microphone mishap', looks like. And, um, they say that the red eyeliner made it look like we're all sharing an eye infection."

Harry can't help a laugh behind his hand. Louis shoves at his shoulder.

"I asked for something _nice_ ," Niall whines. "My poor heart can't handle this."

"Well." Liam looks up from his phone at all of them. There's a smile tugging at his lips. "They also thought it was our best performance yet."

 

 

Simon watches them across the sitting area for a long moment. Despite his years experience being on the receiving end of that cold stare, Harry still finds himself squirming inside.

"Boys," Simon finally says. "Do you happen to recall a certain conversation we had — oh, a few days ago — in which you agreed not to make any more changes without consulting me?"

None of them speak.

"And that making changes in a live show without consulting me would be a major problem."

Harry glances at Sandeep, who's joined them for this meeting, and he doesn't look happy. He'd always been easygoing enough one-on-one, but he'd never been particularly receptive to any of their attempts to control their own music.

"It wasn't our fault," Liam starts weakly. "Our mics —"

"Ah, right, your mics," Simon says. "It's a nice story except that I have it on good authority there was _nothing_ wrong with your microphones."

He looks at Harry pointedly.

"Except who was holding which one, perhaps?"

"It was my fault," Louis cuts in from the other side of the boys. "I was the one who switched—"

"No," Harry cuts him off loudly.

He hates confrontation, is never good at it, and knows he'll never win against Simon. But fuck it if he'll let Louis take the blame.

"Harry, don't—" Louis starts.

"No." Harry sits up straighter, still looking at Simon. "It was me. I made Louis switch mics with me right before we went on. He didn't know anything about it."

"Is that right?" Simon says. He raises an eyebrow and looks around the room. "And the rest of you? There were two of you here who lent Harry your mics in the middle of that performance."

"Yeah, because his mic was turned down," Niall jumps in. "No one would've heard him."

" _Harry's_ mic wasn't turned down," Simon says pointedly. He looks back at Harry and Harry forces himself not to look away.

"No," Harry says. " _Louis'_ was. For some reason, mine was turned way up."

"It's normal to make adjustments to get the sound dynamics to match the vision of the group," Sandeep speaks up for the first time.

"The vision of the group being," Simon says, still looking at Harry. "That you are the lead singer, in case that wasn't obvious."

"Of course it was obvious," Harry says. He fists his hands on his thighs. He can practically feel the chains tightening around them and he fists his hands on his thighs. "But that's not how we work. We're all equal. We're a group."

"You're a group that _we_ put together," Simon says, voice cold. "We created One Direction because you had potential. But perhaps you don't have as bright a future as we'd hoped."

"What Simon means is," Sandeep cuts in with a placating gesture at them. "The choices you make don't just affect the five of you. There are other people invested in this."

 

 

"Anyone else confused about what exactly just happened?" Niall asks.

After Simon had dismissed them, they'd sneaked out to grab lunch at a snack bar. They've barely said anything since they left the meeting and now none of them have yet to touch the food they just paid for. Even Niall is just now getting around to unwrapping his sandwich. Harry knows all of them would have preferred to hop on the tube and find food as far from the Syco offices as they could get. But they don't have long before they have to go back to meet Sandeep again.

"Well, Simon threatened us," Louis says. There's no humor in his expression as he glances at Harry across the creaky table. "And then Harry was the moron who took all the blame."

"And then they punished us by giving us more practice time and extra coaching," Zayn adds from the chair next to Louis. "Which doesn't exactly seem like a punishment."

Liam meets Harry's eyes from across the table and, after a long moment, he says, "I think Harry has something to tell us."

"Do you?" Niall asks.

Harry knows what Liam wants him to say and he wants to, he really does. He knows he needs to tell them who he is before it's gone on too long. But he has to talk to Louis. He can't — he needs Louis to understand before he can tell anyone else.

So, instead, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, apparently, "Sandeep isn't a real vocal coach."

"What?" Liam frowns at him. "Harry, you know that's not what I meant—"

"He's not?" Niall interrupts. "Well, what is Sandeep, then? A Pokemon?"

Louis throws a balled-up napkin at him. "A Pokemon? That's seriously the first thing ye come up with?" 

"He can't be a Pokemon," Zayn says. "He's American."

"What the fuck does being American have to do with being a Pokemon?" Louis demands.

"Because they're Japanese, right?"

"Can we stop talking about Pokemon for just one second," Liam interrupts, loud and frustrated. "Harry, it's time, you really need to tell—"

"We don't have time," Harry says, tapping his wrist. His wrist where, okay, he is apparently wearing half a dozen bracelets but somehow not a watch today. He hides his arm under the table before it completely undermines his point, and continues, "We have to be back to meet Sandeep now, don't we?"

"Not for another fifteen minutes," Liam says. Because he is, apparently, wearing a watch.

"Then it's not the _right_ time," Harry argues.

"Wait, if Sandeep's not a Pokemon or a vocal coach, aren't you going to tell us what he is?" Niall asks.

"He's just a songwriter," Harry says. And then cringes when he hears himself, because it came out too harsh and Sandeep doesn't deserve that. In the end, he was responsible for a huge part of their early success. Harry isn't proud of the bad note they parted on after their second album. So he adds, "I mean, not 'just' a songwriter. He's really good, like, kind of a hit-maker, on some level?"

"Really?" Liam asks. "What songs did he write?"

"Um," Harry says. Sandeep has to have had hits before What Makes You Beautiful. But he can't remember any except their own and Ariana Grande's, and neither of their songs would exist in 2010.

But Zayn has his phone out and he reads off, "According to Wikipedia, he's written for JLS and Leona Lewis and, shit, Usher—"

"And Britney Spears," Niall adds, looking over his shoulder.

Liam asks, "Why didn't we know that? And why's he our vocal coach, then?"

And Harry doesn't have the answer to that, but at least it's got Liam distracted.

 

 

"H, wait." Louis tugs Harry back by his sleeve so they're a step behind the others as they wait to cross the road back to the studios.

"What is it?"

"What you did back there with Simon? Or with the mics the other night? I need you to promise me you won't do it again," Louis says.

Harry takes him in. They're eye-to-eye, and Louis' wearing his glasses and his eyes are even lighter than usual in the mid-day sunlight. His hair is soft and the angles of his face aren't as sharp as they will be in a couple of years and he's so, so young.

"I can't promise," Harry tells him.

"But what if Simon doesn't want you to be the lead anymore?" Louis asks quietly.

"That's the point."

Louis' brow just furrows deeper in concern.

"H, you're meant to be a star, you know that. You can't give that up," he says. Harry shakes his head. Louis sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "At least promise you won't do it for my sake, yeah?"

The light beeps for their turn to cross, and it saves Harry from having to find a way to tell this boy that there isn't anything he wouldn't do for him. 

 

 

The next day, Harry bares his teeth at Niall and asks, "Do I have banana in my teeth?" 

"You don't," Niall says. And then asks with a laugh, "Is it even possible to get banana stuck in your teeth?"

Apparently it is, since Harry's been stopped from sitting down for interviews at least twice because of it.

He throws his banana peel in the bin. And, even though the lid's, for some reason, missing, the peel still manages to bounce off it and land on the floor. He sighs and leans down to pick it up.

"Wait." Niall stops him as he tries to leave the kitchen.

Harry frowns at him. "Don't we have the video diary?" 

"Yes, but—" Niall looks around as if to make sure they're alone. "I wanted to ask you, is Louis bothering you?"

"Is this about how he changed my ringtone last night?"

Niall shakes his head, but then his lips twist up in a nostalgic smile. "The porn moans were funny, though. Especially when your mum rang and—"

"Okay, okay, can we please never mention that again?" Harry says, pained. It was hard enough to talk to his mother and pretend to be the sixteen year old Harry Styles she knows. Let alone to do it after hearing breathy female moaning come out of his phone.

"What I mean is," Niall continues. "Does it bother you the way he is with you?"

"The way he's what with me?" Harry asks.

"You know," he says. "Wanting to be with you all the time. And touching you all the time. And, like, sleeping with your bed all the time."

"What?" Harry asks, incredulous. "Why would you ever think that bothers me?"

"I didn't used to think it did," Niall says. "I mean, you were just as bad at the start."

"And now I'm _not_?"

Harry can't believe they're having this conversation.

"Well, yeah," Niall says as if it's obvious. "Now you always try to sit as far away from him as possible. And if he gets too close you move away. And you don't talk to him as much as you did. Sometimes it seems like you don't even want to look at him. And—"

"Niall," Harry interrupts him. "Louis and I spent all morning together. You were there, remember? By the time the cameras came by, my legs were numb from how long he'd been sitting on my lap."

Niall snaps his fingers. "That's it — it's round other people that you're avoiding him, isn't it? Is it about Houis, then?"

"Niall, I'm not avoiding — wait, what is Houis?" Harry asks.

"It's what the fans are calling you two," Niall says. "You know, like a couple name. Me 'n Liam are Niam and me 'n Zayn are Nayn."

Harry stares at him for a ridiculous moment and then says, "No, you're not. You're Ziall."

"So you know about me and Zayn, but you haven't heard of Houis?"

"No, god, of course I have. I just think there's got to be a better name for us."

"Okay?" Niall hesitates. "But is that why you're avoiding him, then? Because you don't want people getting the wrong idea?"

"What's the wrong idea?" Harry asks, because the more Niall talks the less sense he's making.

"That you're together," Niall says. "Like, an actual couple."

Harry stares at him.

"Or that you're gay? I don't really see why it matters, mate," Niall says. And then sounds reluctant as he adds, "But I suppose it's okay if you don't want people thinking you're like that."

"You seriously believe that I don't want people to think I'm gay," Harry says slowly.

"I mean, I _didn't_ think so," Niall says. "You never seemed the type to care. 

"I'm not the type," Harry says. But it's hitting him all at once that Niall is right. 

This morning, when the cameras had come around and he'd pushed Louis off his lap. Yesterday at Simon's office when he'd sat as far from Louis as he could. At the live tapings when he's tried hard not to look at Louis. When he's avoided hugging him even when all the other boys are. How he's always looking around to make sure they're not being filmed when Louis gets too close. And if they are, how he quickly finds a way to put space between them.

"It's just — you've seen how Louis looks when you're avoiding him, right?" Niall's still talking. "Like, kind of confused but mostly sad, and I thought—"

"Jesus Christ," Harry says. Because of _course_ he doesn't know what Louis looks like when he does that. Not when he's doing everything he can not to look in his direction.

"I know he has a girlfriend," Niall is still talking, clearly oblivious to Harry's turmoil. "But he talks to her less than I talk to Amelia and me and her broke up weeks ago. And the way he looks at you sometimes — I don't want to make assumptions but if you're going to have a problem with it if it turns out he likes lads—"

Harry grabs his arm just to get him to stop talking. "Niall, no. You have it all wrong. You're so wrong, I would never—"

But then he doesn't even get the chance to clear it up because they're late to the video diary and Liam's come to round them up.

 

 

Louis is even later than he and Niall are. They've already started filming, and Harry's already started to worry, when Louis shows up at the top of the stairs with a bin lid over his head. 

The missing kitchen bin lid, specifically. Which has to be the least hygienic thing ever to put over one's head.

Harry smiles up at Louis whenever the other boys laugh at his antics, but he's afraid it probably comes out looking sad. And when the question comes of what superpower he'd choose, he says 'time travel', because that's what he said the first time he'd been asked back in primary, and he's stuck with it since.

Even if, at this moment, he's not entirely sure he should be trusted with this kind of power.

Later, when they're asked about their first kiss, Harry tells the story of Valentine's Day in Year 7. He doesn't even notice until afterwards that he stops, just like he always does, after he's only told the first half of the story.

 

 

"Gemma, am I homophobic?" Harry asks as soon as she picks up her phone.

"What?"

"Am I homophobic?" he repeats.

"Are you serious right now?" Gemma asks. "H, you're the gayest person I know."

"I'm sure that's not true," Harry says. Though it's possible she hasn't met her friend Phil yet.

"Well, not anymore," Gemma scoffs. "Not whilst you're pretending to boff every girl in that house."

"I'm not pretending to boff anyone," Harry says crankily. "They're the ones putting that in the papers. And, anyways, you can be gay and still be homophobic."

"Well, I really don't think you are either way," she says. "What is this even about? Is it something in the future? Which — for the record — I'm still not convinced you're from and am just humoring you."

"Right," Harry says, because she assures him of that every time they talk. 

He stares out the window to the makeshift footie pitch in the garden, squinting against the glare of late afternoon sun. He knows Louis and some of the others are out there, but he can't discern their silhouettes.

"Maybe it is about the future," he says finally. "I mean, I've been in the closet for eight years—"

"You've never been in the closet," she interrupts. "Ever. I would know."

"You'd be surprised how easily you can get shoved in there," he says. He gives a strangled laugh. Outside the window he still can't make out where Louis is. "Just sign the wrong page in your contract, you know?"

"Harry—"

He shakes his head and the reflection of a young, young Harry Styles in the window does the same. He tells Gemma, "But, like, you get a few million pounds for it. So, there's that."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm really, really worried about Harry," Louis says.

Behind them, Harry pretends to fiddle around with a Weetabix box.

"He just can't keep his clothes on," Louis continues with a sigh. "It's interrupting our practices."

"How are we supposed to concentrate?" Liam agrees. "We just want to be seen as good singers."

They're already on their fifth take.

The first time, Niall had screwed up his lines because he couldn't keep from laughing.

The second time, it was Harry who had started giggling. It had made Zayn and Niall laugh and Louis had shot him a fond exasperated look. 

The third time, a sleepy Matt Cardle had wandered in, looking for breakfast.

The fourth time, Niall and Zayn's lines had been successfully reassigned to the only two members of the band who could manage straight faces. And it had worked up until the point when Zayn hadn't held his magazine up high enough to cover Harry's nude bits.

Through it all, Liam keeps giving Harry the same confused look he's had ever since Konnie had interrupted them in the practice room and announced this short. As if maybe he's surprised that a twenty-four year old Harry Styles wouldn't be too mature for this.

"There's nothing we can do about it," Liam says now.

Harry pretends to be listening on his phone as he starts to walk slowly behind them. Niall holds up his magazine — the job having been reassigned to him this time — to cover him.

In front of the camera, Louis heaves a put-upon sigh and slumps down in his chair. He complains, "He's always in the nude."

When it's over, Louis reiterates his prior objection that the segment would have been much more authentic if Harry had actually taken off his pants.

And Harry starts giggling again when he can't stop thinking about all the times Louis had actually complained to him about him walking around naked in their flat when he was trying to get work done.

Those complaints used to end ended with Harry being tackled to the nearest flat surface. And somehow this time, too, Harry finds himself tackled to the sofa with Louis straddling him and holding his arms down. 

This, however, is followed by a sequence of events Harry isn't entirely sure of but that ends with Zayn's t-shirt soaked with milk and Harry in the toilet, picking muesli out of his knotted hair.

He catches sight of his bare body in the mirror. It still annoys him to see his reflection. It's not that his body is sixteen and definitely looks it. Not that his hair has yet to resemble anything close to an actual preplanned style. And he doesn't really care that there's still a bit of puppy fat where he's used to seeing toned muscle.

What bothers him is how blank his body looks.

All the memories he's used to being etched into his skin are just gone. The Traveler had made clear that when he said 'yes', he was saying yes to living the last eight years all over again. Which means it will be two years before he'll be eighteen and even be able to think about replacing them.

He traces the ghost of a butterfly over the soft skin of his abdomen.

He might end up with entirely different tattoos this time around.

 

 

Harry, now dressed in loose trousers and a striped top that he thinks probably belongs to Louis and a Coca-Cola belt Harry isn't confident originally belonged to any of them, is sitting on one of the bunks updating his twitter when Liam finds him.

"Konnie's taken the others to do one of those adverts," Liam tells him.

And then, after searching the house for a place they won't be found out, they find themselves in the workout room.

"It's not a bad song choice," Harry offers as Liam pulls out the vocal sheets.

"But?" Liam says.

"Sandeep doesn't get it," Harry says.

He sits down on the weight bench next to Liam and hands him the printout of lyrics he's marked up.

"It's not his fault," he continues. "He doesn't know what our strengths and weaknesses are and how we fit together. And they want to good footage, so he's, like, wasting time giving us exercises that aren't even the things we need to work on."

They'd spent two hours at Syco with him yesterday and a good part of it had involved Harry spending a good twenty minutes being filmed flat on the floor as Sandeep had instructed him on how to sing with his diaphragm.

"If he'd been paying any attention, he'd know that I tend to keep my throat too tight so that's the opposite of what I should be working on," he says. "But his time would be better spent, in any case, teaching you and Niall to start harmonizing or teaching Zayn how to project or convincing Louis to stop holding back. But—" Harry shrugs. "He's not really a vocal coach, yeah?"

Liam is staring at Harry's lyrics page. 

"But it's not a bad song for us," Harry says again. "The verses sound good when they're divided up and there's room for each of us to take lines there at the end." He points at the paper.

"Not sure Zayn should be taking the lead here, though," he points at another place on the paper. "Really isn't his style. But the way the choruses are pretty much all belted is perfect for Louis."

"Really? I've never heard him sing like that," Liam says. Then frowns. "Maybe a little bit last week."

"Yeah, he's — he can do it," Harry says. He points to another spot on the paper. "And Niall can totally pull off this cocky verse here."

"I can see that," Liam agrees, nodding. "But what about here—don't you reckon you would be better at—"

But then they're interrupted by a wandering camera crew.

Liam's off his crutches now but his ankle's still sore, so he messes around with the free weights while Harry pretends to jog on the treadmill until they have the footage they came for.

 

 

The boys have holed up in one of the empty sitting rooms in the Syco building. They're waiting for their turn to record their lines on the charity single. 

"It's like this — look, I'll show you," Harry says to Louis. "Just listen. The rest of them will do the chorus with me."

They'd gone over their changes with the other boys and Sandeep last night and no one had objected. Except Louis, who's still requiring some convincing.

He starts with "Kind hearts don't make a new story" and stops them before they get to the repeated lines at the end.

"It sounds good, H," Louis says.

"I know," Harry says. He can't help a smug smile. "So you try it, now."

"No," Louis cuts him off. "I mean, it sounds really good just like that. We should do it that way."

"Lou," Harry says, shaking his head. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I'm not a good singer, yeah?" He glances at Liam quickly, mostly to make sure that he's not going to blurt out that Harry's from the future at this inopportune moment. "I mean, it wouldn't sound _bad_ if I led the second chorus. Or any of us, really. Liam's great on the first one. But if you do it, it's going to be better. I promise."

"Haz—" he starts.

But Liam cuts him off. "Do you want to win the contest or not?"

Louis looks a little lost, glancing between the two of them. Then says, "Fine."

But before he's got through the first 'Kids in America' line, Harry stops them.

"Lou," he beseeches. "Just sing like yourself."

"I _am_ singing like myself," Louis says, and Harry can hear the frustration in his voice. "I told you, I'm not going to sound as good as you. As any of you. I don't understand why you want me to stand out."

"Because you're wrong!" Harry says, spreading his arms out. "I can hear you're holding back. You'd make us sound amazing if you'd stop doing that."

"I'm too loud," Louis says, glaring at him. "They turned down my mic for a reason, or did you forget that?"

"They're as wrong as you are." Harry, to be honest, still doesn't truly understand the meaning behind turning down Louis' mic. Even if they wanted to position Harry as the leader, surely anyone could hear in their practices that Louis having Louis' voice in the choruses at least made them better.

"Fine," Louis snaps. "Just fucking do it."

Harry turns to Niall, who's got his eyebrows raised. Harry gives him a nod and he raises his eyebrows but then shrugs and goes into his last line before the chorus.

Harry and the other boys come in for the chorus and Louis — maybe he needed to be angry to do it, but he properly belts the lines this time and easily takes it over.

Harry doesn't stop them this time until all the 'lalala's.

Louis glares around at all of them and says, "See?"

"Shit, Harry, you were right," Liam says.

"Yeah, man, how did you know?" Zayn asks.

Louis' brow is starting to furrow as he looks around at them. Harry just grins at his boy, knows his dimples are popping out.

"Why don't we have him sing on the first chorus, too?" Zayn asks.

Harry shrugs and says, "We can try it both ways."

"No, I like it this way," Liam says. "It'll have more of an impact if he comes in later."

"Like we did with the crescendo thing on Total Eclipse of the Heart," Niall says. "He'll keep his mic down and it'll be obvious he's not singing until he comes in and takes over."

"You're talking about me like I'm not right here," Louis snaps. He looks around at them. "Don't I get a say?"

"Nah, it's four against one," Niall says, grinning. "Democratic boy band, remember?"

 

 

"So, Payno, who's that you were talking to?" Louis nudges Liam in the ribs with his foot. 

Liam shoots him an annoyed look and scoots away from him on the floor. But Harry catches the flush on his cheeks and grins down at him.

"She's fit, mate," Zayn offers as he leans back in his chair next to Harry's. They're sitting at the side of the gymnasium, taking a break between choreography run-throughs. "Could do worse."

Harry looks across the gymnasium at where Liam had been chatting up one of the dancers. The dancer in question, long curly brown hair and very form-fitting tights, is doing stretches on one of the mats.

"Yeah he could," Niall says, sounding a little mesmerized. His eyes have been bugging out of his face ever since they'd arrived to find their backup dancers warming up. He's barely taken his eyes off them since.

Harry gets an idea and leans back to catch Louis' attention behind Niall's back. Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry gives the bottle of water he's just opened a meaningful look. Harry knows he's grinning, and it would be suspicious as hell if Niall was paying any sort of attention.

When Louis passes him the bottle, the cap's already off, so all it takes is raising it up above Niall's head and—

"Fuck!" Niall jumps up, scrubbing at his soaked hair. He whirls around on them. "What the—Louis!"

Louis just smirks and raises his hands up. "Wasn't me."

And Harry realizes he's still got the water bottle in his hand and tosses it away. It clatters unsubtly to the ground behind him.

"Harry?" Niall whines, betrayed. "You got me all wet."

Harry takes him in, from his soaked hair — still unnaturally blonde, even wet — to his white t-shirt, wet and sticking to his skinny chest.

"Yes," Harry agrees.

Zayn is snickering to the side of him and even Liam is chuckling as he shakes his head. 

"You looked like you needed some cooling off," Harry says innocently.

Niall harrumphs and starts trying to squeeze the water from his hair onto Harry. Except it's too wet and it mostly just drips down his own neck.

"How am I supposed to mind anything else?" Niall whines. "There's just so many..." He throws his hands up in the air like he can't even think straight.

Louis bursts out laughing and says, "You'd think you'd never seen a girl in your life, lad."

"But. Boobs," he says. He turns wide eyes on Harry. "Don't tell me you're not distracted, too. You've been messing up the choreography more than I have today."

"Floor's slippery," Harry says with a shrug. And then adds, because, as much as he's been conditioned over the last years not to say things like this, he'd very much like to clear this up. "Not really all that into boobs, anyways."

He catches Louis giving him a strange look.

"What, you a bum guy?" Zayn asks.

Harry very carefully looks back away from Louis. He's not confident he could convincingly deny that right now, not with the fact that Louis in trackies may have had more to do with his distracted choreography than the slippery floor.

Instead, he leans back in his chair and reaches back to pick up the empty water bottle he'd thrown earlier. But he stretches too far, and his chair starts to tilt back until Louis grips him by his thigh and pushes him back down.

His hand doesn't linger but Harry would swears he can still feel his touch through his own trackies. He wants to tell Louis to do it again, only this time to grip harder, to leave bruises so Harry can trace the shape of his fingerprints on his skin later.

Except. That would probably be a disturbing thing to say to one's platonic best mate.

So, instead, Harry fights the way his sixteen year old cheeks are heating up and turns back to Liam. "Did you get Danielle's number, then?"

"No, I—" Liam starts.

"Wait, I thought you had a thing for Cheryl Cole," Louis interrupts him. "You were the one telling me off for talking about her the other night."

"I told you off because you were being stupid," Liam says. "And she's ten years older than me, mate. That's never going to happen."

Harry groans inwardly. The last thing he wants to talk about right now is Liam and Cheryl.

"You never know," Louis says with a laugh in his voice. He nudges Liam with his foot. "Maybe she likes 'em young."

"Louis," Liam says sternly.

"What? I'm not judging."

Harry looks down at his puffy purple trainers. He wonders what Louis would say if he knew that Harry's six years older than him and can't stop himself from wanting him.

"Shut up. And, anyways, no." Liam turns to Harry. "I didn't get Danielle's number, but we'll see her again at sound check tomorrow, so I reckoned maybe —" He stops abruptly. "How did you know her name?"

"Er," Harry says.

Liam is giving him a wide-eyed look. "Wait, do you—do I—"

"Harry probably just got to her first. You know how he is with girls," Niall says. He looks like he's finally given up on shaking himself dry and plops back down in his chair. The chair is still wet. But, then, so is Niall, so it doesn't matter much."

"Nah, only girl I've seen Harry going for lately is Rebecca," Zayn says.

"Oh my god," Harry groans. He hangs his head down on his arms. "I wasn't flirting with her."

"Yeah, just because he talks to a woman doesn't mean he's trying to pull," Louis says with more than a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Why not?" Niall asks. "She's plenty fit, too."

"I just wanted to see the pictures of her children," Harry mumbles. He and Rebecca are the same age now and it's not like Harry had ever really thought he'd have babies of his own by now. Except that when he was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and— all right, so maybe he had always sort of hoped he would. It's not his fault he just really likes babies.

"Ah, so it's that because she's got kids, then?" Zayn asks. "Wouldn't matter to me."

Harry sighs. He knows for a fact it does matter to Zayn. At least it did a year from now, after he'd been hooking up Rebecca for a good three months on the X Factor Tour and she'd told him she wanted to introduce him to them.

But instead of arguing the point, Harry says, honestly, "I've never flirted with a woman a day in my life."

"You're the flirtiest flirt in the house, Curly," Louis says.

"All right, I've never _intentionally_ flirted with a woman," Harry amends. "Not really my type—"

But then he's interrupted by Brian appearing before them, rubbing his hands together. "All right, boys, enough of a break. Ready for another run-through? Show me some more energy this time."

 

 

The next day Harry, who has spent far too many days in his life holes up in the cramped recording studios on the second floor of Syco's building, is lost.

A little bit.

Maybe.

They'd just finished recording their part of the charity single and Harry had ducked out for the toilet in the middle of Cher and Katie complaining to the boys about the extra practice time they've been getting all week.

He'd found the toilet all right. It's the getting back that's the problem. If it was a couple of years in the future, he'd be able to navigate by the One Direction paraphernalia decorating the walls. But, back in 2010, all the narrow white hallways look the same.

Just as he's about to round another corner, he hears a familiar man's voice talking.

"Well, if we want to break into America—"

He just can't place who it is. 

"Isn't it a little early to be thinking about this?" It's Sandeep, with his hint of a Texas accent, this time. "They're barely starting out."

Harry's about to step forwards. Sandeep could tell him how to get back. But then the other man is saying,

"Did you even look at this week's reports? Those boys can barely sing and they're already bringing in more money than anyone else. We have to jump on this while we can. We haven't had a real hit since Leona and where is she now?"

"The boys aren't that bad," Sandeep insists. "After this last week they seem to be coming into their own."

Harry fiddles with his bracelets. He's not one for eavesdropping but he's having trouble making himself stop listening. 

After a long pause, during which Harry can hear the shuffling of papers, Sandeep continues, "I'm not sure Simon was all that happy with them about that, though. I was at that meeting. They'd switched the mics themselves. They might not be as suited for this as we thought—"

"They're children," the man says dismissively. "They'll learn to get in line." There's a short pause and then, "The mics were a problem, though. We can't have something like that happen again."

"Well, we can't tweak the volume anymore," Sandeep says. "Now everyone knows what they sound like, it'll be obvious."

The man sighs noisily. "That boy, what's his name, Lewis?"

"Louis," Sandeep corrects him.

"He was a bad choice."

Harry stills.

"You know, I've never understood why you chose him," Sandeep says. "I obviously came in after all this, but you put him in the group and then had us all but silence his mic?"

"Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty," the other man says. "He was popular with the others. Simon had tapped the Styles kid early and they seemed to be friends. Nicole thought his voice was different enough to help them stand out."

"So why were we supposed to keep him from getting attention? That's what no one's been able to tell me. It wasn't my decision to turn down his mic."

"The last thing the world needs is another gay boybander," the man says bluntly.

Harry feels his chest tighten. He couldn't place the voice before, but he's heard those last words too many times not to recognize Robert Gorden's voice saying them.

"A gay boybander," Sandeep repeats.

"Look," Robert sighs. "He'd shown up with his pretty girlfriend and he was pretty, too, in a way that — if my girls are any judge — the under-fifteens like."

Sandeep is silent.

"I know what you're thinking, but we hadn't realized how — let's call it flamboyant — he was. You wouldn't believe the footage from the bootcamp that we had to cut. It should have been obvious, sure, but back then Diva Fever were still around and they could make Sir Elton look heterosexual."

"It's 2010, Robert," Sandeep says. His voice is quiet but there's a new tension there. "For god's sake, half the judges on this show are gay."

"And neither of them are in what's set to become Britain's next big boy band." Robert says.

"But you don't even know that Louis is gay to begin with," Sandeep says. "Weren't you just talking about his girlfriend?"

"It doesn't matter," Robert says dismissively. "We have high hopes for these boys. Weren't we just talking about breaking into America? You of all people know what it's like there. If anyone looks too long at Lewis—"

"Louis," Sandeep corrects him again.

"If anyone looks too long at him, half the mums in America won't let their girls buy One Direction concert tickets."

There's a pause and then Sandeep says, "So what exactly are you asking me to do?"

There's a sudden clatter on the floor and, shit, Harry has managed to snap the bracelet he's been fidgeting with. 

Apparently they didn't hear it, though, because. As Harry stumbles to his knees to gather up the beads, Robert's calmly telling Sandeep that he has to the attention away from Louis this week.

There are still a few beads rolling into the crevices of the wood floor when Sandeep starts to respond, but Harry knows he needs to get out of there. Even if only for the reason that is because he's not a subtle crier, and it's looking like that's the direction this is headed right now.

"—whatever you need to do to keep that boy under wraps—" is the last thing Harry hears as he stumbles back through the hallways.

 

 

Before Harry can meet back up with the boys, he has to find the toilet again to splash cold water over his puffy red-rimmed eyes. When he gets a text that their car's there to take them back, he's lucky enough to run into Aiden, who directs him towards the lift.

Harry pauses at the entrance to the building. One of the white X Factor vans is parked in the road and the boys are just down the steps, signing autographs for a group of fans. Louis is smiling, bright and unselfconsciously at something one of the girls is telling him.

Harry bites his lip as he watches him.

Two years from now, their management sits down with Louis and tells him he's acting too "flamboyant" and has to tone it down. The next week, an interviewer asks Louis for one word he would use to describe himself, and Louis smirks at the camera and says, "Flamboyant."

Four years from now, their management sits down with Louis and tells him again that he's too "flamboyant" and has to tone it down.

The next day, he cuts his hair and stops shaving his stubble and he starts wearing socks over the triangle tattoo on his ankle.

In 2010, Harry Styles, sixteen and twenty-four all at once, pushes the door open and steps out of the Syco offices.

He pastes on a bright smile for the fans.

 

 

The next morning, Sandeep texts them early to summon them to Fountain Studios for a last-minute practice before the sound check. 

They're all sitting now on the edge of the stage, legs dangling down. Zayn's leaning against Liam's shoulder, half-asleep. Niall's munching on some crisps.

There's a difference between rumors and knowing for sure. There's a difference between getting instructions from management they could pretend to rebel against and knowing that so little of any of this was ever in their hands.

Beside him, Louis asks, "You alright?"

Harry doesn't answer and doesn't take his eyes off Sandeep walking down the aisle of the dark auditorium towards them.

He feels Louis wrap an arm around his shoulder, tugging him closer.

As Harry watches Sandeep walk down the aisle to them, he thinks distantly that maybe he should be angry. But can't muster it. 

Harry glances at Louis, who is looking at him with soft blue eyes and a tentative smile and soft fringe falling over his forehead.

"Harry, are you with us?"

Harry jolts back into awareness and looks at Sandeep who's now standing in front of them.

He's looking at Harry with an inscrutable expression, and, god, Harry's probably made things worse for Louis yet again, just by choosing to sit next to him.

Fuck Niall for putting it into Harry's head that he could stop hiding.

"Sorry, was just — not really awake yet, I suppose," Harry mumbles. He says again, "Sorry."

Sandeep cocks his head, giving him a strange look, but then says, "I wanted to talk about making a few last minute changes to the song this week, if you boys are up for it."

"What kind of changes?" Liam speaks up.

"I was hoping," Sandeep continues. "That you guys would be okay if we gave Liam's opening solo to Louis."

Harry fists his hands on his thighs and tries to remind himself that, in the end, it's money. That's all it is and ever has been.

"What? Why?" Louis is asking.

"Yeah, of course that would be okay," Liam is saying at the same time.

"I know that you've been practicing it differently, but, Louis, after last week, the fans have been asking why you haven't had a solo. And I —"

"Wait."

Sandeep raises his eyebrows.

"What did you just say?" Harry asks.

 

 

The day only gets stranger when Simon watches them at sound check, with Louis singing the opening lines, and the only thing about the song he makes them change is the choreography.

 

 

After getting filmed pretending to be scared of the Guy Fawkes fireworks, Harry pulls Louis into in a practice room and they go over and over the song and Harry makes him drink cup after cup of steaming tea so the extra practice won't make him hoarse for the show the next day.

 

 

"You told me Louis didn't have any solos during in The X Factor," Liam says to Harry the next morning. They have time free between interviews and Liam's drawn him into one of the empty backstage hallways.

"He didn't," Harry says, puzzled. The Liam he knows wouldn't ever be resentful over giving up a solo for someone else. Had in fact pushed for more solos for Liam and Niall in their later albums. "But that doesn't mean he shouldn't have had any—"

"You saw him last week," Liam says.

Harry says slowly, "I remember him making us sound better than we had before."

"And the part where he looked like he was going to get sick when he walked on stage? And how angry he was afterwards?"

"Yes, I remember that, too," Harry says.

"Look, obviously you two are still best mates in the future."

"What?" Harry cuts in.

"Well, aren't you?" Liam says. "Never mind, that's not what I'm asking about. I just — wouldn't you have suggested giving him the opening solo if you thought he could do it? He's not going to crack under the stress?"

"Liam," Harry says. He puts his hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eye. They're the same kind brown eyes he's used to looking into, just with an extra edge of anxiety in them. "We've performed together for years, yeah? We've all messed up. Missed notes and lost our voices and made a bollocks of the lyrics and, shit, even skived off mid-way through a tour of Asia when we knew our parts weren't exactly the easiest to cover."

"Wait—what?" Liam asks, sidetracked. "Who did that?"

"It doesn't matter," he says and opens his mouth to continue, but at Liam's worried look, he adds, "Not Louis, he would never—and not you, either." And, as an afterthought, "And not me."

"There's only two options left there," Liam points out, eyes narrowing.

"Never mind," Harry says loudly. Then looks around to make sure they're still alone and lowers his voice. "The point is. We're not alone out there. There's five of us, yeah? And if someone makes a mistake there's four people to cover for them. Maybe the rest of you don't have that much experience with each other. But I know Louis really, really well and I'm right next to him. I'll know by the second note if he's struggling. I can support him if he needs it."

Liam has stopped walking and is now staring at him. "You've thought about this."

"Well, I'm not just going to leave him out there alone," Harry says. "Fuck, not if I can ever help it, at least. But Louis' not going to break. He's got this."

"He does," Liam says, though he still sounds hesitant to agree.

"Hey, you asked me if I remember last week, yeah?" Harry says. "Louis has been told for weeks that his voice isn't as good as the rest of yours. And then it came out that they turned down his mic so far you could barely hear him because no one wanted to hear him."

"None of us think that—" Liam protests.

"I know." Harry runs a hand through his hair, where it's still soft and unstyled since their morning interviews aren't filmed. "I reckon even the people who've been trying to make him think that have other reasons for doing it. But, still, he believed it was all true." Harry gives Liam a wry smile and says, "And then I come in and shove my mic at him."

"Yes?"

"And you know why I know he's got this? Not that Louis from the future has this, because he would fucking rock this song. But 18 year old Louis?" Harry says. "Because he didn't pull the mic away."

"What?"

"When I gave him the mic, he sang right into it. And he didn't sing quietly or mime the words," Harry says.

"No, he didn't," Liam agrees. "He didn't. If he really thought he was going to fuck it up, why didn't he—"

"There you are!" crows a voice from down the hall. Harry and Liam both whirl around. The other three boys are all there. Louis reaches him first and slings an arm across his shoulder. Zayn is struggling to get Niall to climb down from his shoulders in an apparently non-consensual piggy-back ride. Niall is putting up a good fight, looking the kind of hyped up he gets when no one stops him from eating too many sweets at once.

"What are you lot doing over here?" Louis asks. "Couldn't find you lads anywhere."

"Just talking," Liam says.

"About what?" Zayn asks. He narrows his eyes. "You two have been sneaking off a lot lately."

"Yeah, what's that about?" Niall demands, finally sliding off Zayn's back. He puts his hands on his hips.

"Harry has something to tell us," Liam says. 

"I don't."

"It's time, Harry," Liam says. Harry catches his meaningful look. "You can't keep this from everyone forever."

And Harry wants to, he really does, he just—

He can't.

Not with Louis looking at him, blue eyes all soft and trusting. Not with all of them here. Not when he still hasn't come up with the right words.

So he blurts out the other thing that he's been trying to say all week. This one he apparently does, finally, after eight years, have the words for.

"I'm gay."

There's a long moment of silence.

"You are?" Louis blurts out.

Harry meets his eyes and nods.

"Really?"

Louis' eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. Harry's about to respond when he's interrupted by Zayn stepping across the group to slap Liam upside the head.

"Oi! What was that for?" Liam demands, holding his head.

"You can't just force someone to come out like that." Zayn folds his arms across his chest. "Not cool, man."

"No, I didn't—" Liam looks at Harry, looking betrayed. "That wasn't what you were supposed to say."

"Now you're saying you wanted him to stay in the closet?" Zayn demands, dark eyes narrowed.

"I didn't even know, I—"

"You two have been sneaking away to snog, then? That's the secret?" Niall interrupts, looking between the two of them speculatively.

"What? No, _I'm_ straight," Liam protests quickly. "A hundred percent straight." The other boys all stare at him and Liam scrambles to say, "Not that there's anything wrong with being gay! There's not. It's just — I'm not."

And Harry can't help but burst into laughter.

"Oh my god, Li, how are you possibly even worse at this than I remember?" Harry gasps between laughs.

And then, from behind him, he hears, "What's he worse at?" 

Harry whirls around and cries out, "Gemma!"

He breaks away from the group and squeezes her tight as she giggles.

"Nice to see you, too, H," Gemma says.

She fits differently in his arms than he's used to. He pulls back and squints at her. She's got long brown hair and she's taller than she should be, but otherwise she looks just like the Gemma that Harry remembers. He demands, "Are you taller than me?"

"Always have been, little brother," she says breezily. "And always will be."

Harry frowns at her. "M'not done growing yet."

She laughs and turns to the boys around them. "Hello boys," she says. "So what mischief are we up to today in this out of the way hallway?"

"Harry's just broken the news that my gaydar's broken," Niall says, pouting at the floor. "And that I might owe him an apology."

"What for?" Zayn asks.

"You don't owe me anything, Nialler," Harry says. "And you've never had a working gaydar."

He darts a look across the group at Louis, who is staring at him. Last time Louis had found out Harry was gay, he'd run away from him as quickly as he could — though that was probably more about the surprise kiss. Future Louis — well, a Louis 21 days older than that one had been — had apologized to him over and over again until Harry had put his foot down and told him he'd rather he make it up in kisses.

Today's Louis isn't running away, though. He's just looking at Harry like his world has been shaken apart.

"Yeah, Harry was just telling us he was gay," Liam is in the middle of updating Gemma. "Ow! What, why do you keep hitting me?"

"Because you can't just out people without their permission," Zayn says. "For fuck's sake, what if she doesn't know? We just talked about this."

The seriousness of Zayn's lesson is undermined a little bit by Gemma is giggling all the way through it.

"I didn't know it was so complicated!" Liam protests. But he glances over at Harry, looking a lot like a guilty puppy. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Gemma says for him, shaking her head. "Just can't believe it took you so long to tell this lot."

"I've never told anyone before," Harry says honestly. The closest Harry's ever come to saying he's gay out loud is refusing to say that he's not.

"What?" Zayn turns to him. "So you're not out, then?"

"Oi, why does everyone keep talking like you're in some sort of closet, H?" Gemma asks. She shakes her head and turns to them. "Forgive my idiot brother. I know he didn't think you were all some sorts of homophobes. He just isn't used to having to tell people. No one in the environs of Holmes Chapel Comprehensive has had any doubt since that Valentine's Day when he was eleven years old and—"

"Right, well, I'm sure we don't have time for that story," Harry speaks over her. "We've got that Sugarscape interview, remember?"

"But I want to hear it," Niall pipes up. Harry shoots him a look.

"You can tell us on our way to the interview," Liam says helpfully.

Gemma continues without missing a beat. "So it's Valentine's Day, right? Harry gets this card in his desk. And it's a very pretty hand-made one. He brings it home and he's so obnoxiously excited about having a proper secret admirer that it's all he talks about all night."

"Aww," Niall says, he pokes at Harry's cheek and Harry slaps his hand away as they start up back down the hallway.

"It's all he can talk about in class the next day, too, apparently," she says. "And, because he doesn't have any manners, he's bragging about loud enough that the whole class can hear."

"Oi, I have manners," Harry protests. He pushes at her arm. "Was just hoping the boy who had sent it would hear how much I liked it and then he'd come over and kiss me and..."

"And?"

"And then we'd live happily ever after?"

"Right," Gemma says drily.

"What?" Harry defends himself. "It was a good plot."

"So what happened, then?" Zayn asks.

Harry grimaces. "The plot worked."

"Yes." Gemma picks up the narrative again. "So this girl comes over, all blushes and fluttering lashes—"

"Gems, you weren't even there."

"But I know Janie and she has very fluttery lashes. And, anyways, she asks Harry if he truly liked the card. And Harry's so excited, he says 'yes' and asks her if she knows who sent it because he wants to give them a big kiss."

Harry groans.

"And so what happens?" Niall asks.

"He gets a big kiss," Gemma says with a smirk.

"From the girl?"

"Yup," she says, popping the 'p'.

Harry cringes. "Don't we have to go in now?" he asks hopefully.

They're stopped in the hallway now and the door's closed to the room with the taped-up sign for 'Sugarscape'. 

"Door's closed," Liam says. "Must not be done with whoever's before us yet."

Harry buries his face in his hands.

"So, our lovely, kind, well- _mannered_ Harry here," Gemma says. "Climbs up on his desk and announces to the whole classroom - 'I don't want a kiss from a girl. I only want kisses from boys.'"

At least two of the boys have burst out laughing. Harry peeks out from behind his hands to argue, "She stole my first kiss, Gems. She made me have my first kiss be with a _girl_."

"The horror," Gemma says, wiping tears from her eyes. "But, you know what, boys, that's not even the best part."

"Really?" Niall asks eagerly.

Harry groans again.

"The best part," she continues, oblivious to — or, more likely, enjoying — his suffering. "Is how, late that night, after Harry's been sent to bed early for rudeness, he sneaks downstairs for craft supplies so he can make her a card for the next day."

"What?" Niall asks with a laugh. "Why?"

"She went to all the trouble," Harry mumbles, hiding his face behind Gemma's shoulder. "Was only polite."

"Well, she probably didn't think it was that polite that you'd written on the back: 'I'm sorry I don't love you back but you're not pretty like a boy,'" Gemma points out.

At that, the boys are laughing again. When Harry dares pull his hands away from his face, it's to find Louis looking at him.

"Please tell me you didn't, Harold," Louis says, but he looks like he's biting back a smile. A bit of the familiar sparkle is back in his eyes, taking over the stunned look from earlier.

"I might possibly have done," Harry confesses. "But I wrote it with my favorite purple glitter pen. So."

"Oh." Louis nods solemnly. "Your sister left that part out. That's not so bad, then."

 

 

After the interview, Zayn is complaining about how they kept asking what they look for in a girl and their first kisses. 

"Yeah, haven't we answered that about five times already this week?" Liam says.

Harry doesn't have the heart to inform them that those questions are never, ever going to stop.

At least, he hadn't had to answer about his first kiss this time. As soon as he'd opened his mouth to answer, Louis had interrupted with some ridiculousness about carrots.

"Thanks," Harry says as he turns to Louis. He doesn't even know why he feels awkward and a little fluttery looking at him right now, but he does. He glances down. "For, you know, helping me out with the questions. You didn't have to."

Louis says, "The story Gemma told us—that's the same story you told for the video diary this week."

"It is," Harry admits.

"About your first kiss," Louis says.

"Yes."

"But you stopped halfway through when you were telling it."

"I did."

Louis is giving him a very intent look, and he says, "I didn't want you to have to stop half-way, love."

Harry finally looks up and Louis is really close to him. He can't help looking down at the tempting curve of Louis' lips and back up to his eyes. He's watching him, so soft and so fond. The Louis looking at him right now is more of _his_ Louis than ever and someone needs to stop Harry right now because he's so close to—

"Louis!"

Harry jerks back. A pretty freckled blonde girl is smiling and tugging Louis over to her. And she's kissing him, right on the lips, right in the same place Harry was so close to kissing.

 

 

"What the fuck are you doing out here?"

Harry startles out of his position and whirls around to face Gemma. She's standing there, one hand on her hip, the other hand holding a takeaway bag.

"Yoga," Harry says.

Gemma raises an unimpressed eyebrow and repeats, "Yoga."

It seemed the most logical thing to do. And he might be rid of the nagging back pain he'd had in the future, but he still has a crick in his neck from using Louis' legs as a pillow when they'd fallen asleep in the practice room at two in the morning. 

"What are _you_ doing?" Harry asks. He dusts off his trousers and stands up.

"Looking for you," she says. And then holds the bag out for him. "Bringing you sustenance."

"You brought me... McDonald's?" Harry says, taking in the logo on the bag.

"You don't have to sound so grateful."

"M'not," he says. "I mean, I am. S'just been a while since I've eaten it."

"Right," she says flatly. "Because you're from the future. Where you're too posh to eat normal takeaway like the rest of us."

Harry just shrugs. The last time he remembers eating McDonald's was the night when Louis and Zayn had shared a joint behind the studios and Louis had managed to convince Harry they all just had to pick up takeaway on the way home. And then he'd stolen all Harry's chips before they'd got in the door to their flat.

Well, Louis' flat. Because Harry hadn't been allowed to have his name on the tenancy agreement.

That night was a good night, though.

That night was also... a really long time ago.

"You are different, aren't you?" Gemma breaks through his thoughts. 

Harry sits down and opens the takeaway bag despite himself. As much as McDonald's doesn't appeal to him it also... kind of does, now that he's smelling the chips. His sixteen year old body is always bent on betraying him.

"You're different, too," Harry says as he pulls a burger out.

Gemma squints at him. "You going to tell me I'm all posh in the future, too?"

"No," Harry says. Though he supposes she sort of is. Neither of them are Northwest working-class kids anymore. "You're more purple, though."

"I'm purple?" she says.

"No, your hair." He gestures through a bite of burger. "It's purple."

She nods slowly. "And I suppose that's a fashion trend in 2018?"

"No, I think it's just you," Harry says.

"I still don't know whether to believe you," she says. She smiles a little, despite herself, and her cheeks dimple just like they always do.

Harry takes a sip of the drink and asks, "About the purple hair?"

She rolls her eyes. "About you being from the future. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm tempted to, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sighs and looks out across the back lot then turns back to him. "So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Harry says.

"Is it coming out to the other boys?" she asks. "I don't get why that was such a big deal. You've never even thought to care by what people think about that."

"Maybe I learned to care." Harry shakes his head and turns back to her. "But, no, it was fine. Even though you had to tell that story, it was still loads better than the last time."

"It went badly last time?" she asks. "None of them seemed bothered."

Harry looks down at where he's already finished the whole double-cheeseburger and chips and drink she's brought him. His sixteen year old taste buds are apparently the real winners today.

He looks back up at Gemma and confesses, "Well, I think it was more that they found out when they caught Lou and I snogging in one of the empty bedrooms." He pauses. "Um, he might possibly have had his hand down my pants and been really close to getting me off at the time."

Gemma bursts out a stunned laugh. "Oh my god, that is so much more than I ever needed to know." But she's still laughing. "So you and Louis, that actually happens, then?"

"Happened," Harry emphasizes the past tense. "It happened. Would've been six days from now, actually. Not the hand job, though, that was later. Though god knows I wouldn't have said no to one back then."

"Still more than I need to know, Hazza," Gemma says. "So. Next week, yeah?"

Harry nods. "Twenty-one days after I'd tried to kiss him and he'd freaked out when he realized he wanted to kiss me back."

He might not remember a lot of the day to day stuff from this year, but he'd counted every one of those days. In the future, Harry has the lyrics for a song he'd titled '21 Days' scribbled in a journal. He's still never sung it out loud for anyone else.

"Always argued about when our actual anniversary was, you know?" he continues. "I'd say it was from the day he'd kissed me back. He'd say it was from the night he'd cooked me chicken and parma ham and called it our first date."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was sort of awful, he'd managed to burn half of it and undercook the other half." Harry looks down at his hands, where he's twisting the burger wrapper between his hands. He says, wistfully, "Still the best meal I've ever had."

Gemma shakes her head. "Good to know you never stop being such a sap."

"It, um." Harry looks away from her. "It didn't work out. Him and me."

"Oh," she says, sobering up.

"It's fine," he says.

"So fine that you're out in the back lot of the studios trying to do yoga?"

He shrugs. It was better than having to sit there in that backstage room with Louis and Heather snogging on the other side of the sofa.

"So fine that I time-traveled eight years?" he offers.

Gemma sighs. "Hazza. Fuck. But you're back here now. And he's going to kiss you next week, remember?" 

"He's not," Harry says. He looks back up. "Not this time. You can't kiss someone back if they don't kiss you first."

 

 

It's just a few minutes before they're to go on and they can hear Treyc still singing. Harry catches the sight of Louis sitting on a crate just backstage, in a white polo and black trousers. He's hunched over and spinning the mic back and forth in his hands.

Harry had been there when Louis had picked out a pair of red ones. But when their stylist had seen him in those, she'd sighed and said something about them being too bright, and then thrust these ones at him instead.

Harry takes a step towards him but stops when he sees Liam come up and sit down next to him.

"Alright?" Liam says.

Harry knows they can't see him and, in a decision to eavesdrop for the second time this week, watches from the side as Louis says to Liam, "You should take the part back, mate."

"What?"

"You're so much better at this than me. I don't know why they wanted me to have this solo. Leading the chorus is more than I should probably be doing."

Harry steps forwards, ready to intervene, but stops himself again when Liam says, "Why didn't you pull the mic away?"

"What?" Louis looks at him, startled.

"Last week, you knew that Harry had switched your mics, right?"

"You know I did." Louis laughs and there isn't much humor in it. "Lad's the least subtle person on the planet."

"Then why didn't you pull your mic away?" Liam pushes.

Louis glares at him for a long moment, then says, "Because he switched mics with me."

"I know he switched the mics." Liam's looking a little frustrated now, too. "What I'm asking is why you didn't pull it away. You could have. Or you could have just mimed it. Would have been the same as the way they'd had it turned down on you. So why didn't you?"

"I told you," Louis says. He adjusts the hem of his polo. Because he switched them."

"Oh," Liam says, looking stymied.

Louis stares off to the mid-distance. "I was so fucking pissed off at him. But, fuck, he wanted me to sing and I'd probably do just about anything that lad wanted me to." Then Harry watches as he turns back to Liam and lets out a sigh. "So, yeah, 'course I sang. And that's the point of your little pep talk, yeah? That for some mad reason he wants me to sing this, too?"

"Actually, I didn't know that was the reason you — well, I suppose it's my point now," Liam says. "So you're not going to back out, are you?"

Louis sighs. "He stayed up half the night practicing with me, y'know."

"He did," Liam agrees.

"Stood up to bloody Simon Cowell for me," he says.

"Yes."

From the auditorium the cheers of the audience rise up again. The judges must be done with their banter. Which means it's almost time for them to be onstage.

Louis stands up off the crate and straightens up.

"Bugger it all, then," he says. Harry sees him tighten his grip on his mic determinedly. "That fucking kid."

 

 

The lights are sparkling from around the stage. The judges' voices are almost drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. Harry still hasn't figured out if rejecting Louis when he tries to be close to him in public is the right thing to do or not. But when Louis wraps his arm around his waist, Harry hugs him back, anyways, and holds him tight against his side.

Louis Walsh, when he's finished criticizing Simon Cowell for choosing a song written and sung by a London girl for American Anthem week, turns to them and says that he thinks they could be the next Westlife and Take That.

Dannii tells them they're making great improvements every week.

Cheryl tells them they've the best vocals so far that night. And they're the last act on. So.

Simon gives them a smug smile and says it's their best performance yet. And that Louis Walsh is wrong and that the song counts as an American Anthem because it's called Kids in America.

 

 

It's Sunday and it's the after-party and the back room at Fountain Studios is a little dingy and the music is from the dregs of the 2010 Syco catalog but it matters less after a pint or two. 

On one side of the room, Niall is trying to chat up a skeptical Kylie Minogue. A young-looking but douchy as ever Shayne Ward is talking to an enamored Rebecca and Aiden. Zayn is laughing out loud by the bar with Louis and Heather. 

In Harry's earshot, Liam is, for at least the third time that night, defending Cheryl Cole for her admirable decision in refusing to vote off either of her acts tonight.

Treyc, across the room, is looking deservedly drunk after she was voted off anyways.

And Harry is telling Gemma about their performance.

"Do you remember when his voice cracked on the 'I sit here alone' line?" Harry raves. "I don't even know if it was intentional or not. But it doesn't even matter, it was so good. And when he did that last 'sing it!' and everyone was cheering?"

"How many times have you watched the show on repeat, H?" Gemma asks. And then wrinkles her nose and grabs for the pint glass that has, oops, started to spill over Harry's hand. "And more importantly, I thought I'd only bought you three of these. How are you pissed already?"

Harry pouts at her. It's not his fault his sixteen year old self has embarrassingly little stamina. He makes a grab for the glass anyways, but she doesn't give it back.

"I thought you didn't even like beer," she says. "Or does that change in the future, too?"

"I still don't," he says. "After-parties are always shit, though. You have to be high or drunk or it's not worth going."

"So you're one of those drug addicted popstars in the future, then?" she says.

"No," he says. He wrinkles his nose. "M'boring. I have posh friends and I drink kale smoothies and do yoga. Been months since I've even got laid. Bit hard to pull when you've got six and a half foot security guards following you around everywhere, innit? And when you get papped before you even step out of the hotel. Or when, you know, you're in love with someone else. So I just—" He makes another gesture with his hands. "Mostly I fall asleep watching The Great British Bake-Off."

"Harry—"

"Did you know they changed the name of it in America? Why would you do that? It doesn't make any sense," he says. But, from the expression on his sister's face, he's starting to worry he's not making any sense either.

What had Gemma asked him? Was it if he was okay?

"I'm good," he assures her.

"Are you?" She glances meaningfully over to the side of the room. Harry follows her eyes to where Louis and Heather are off whispering to either each.

"S'fine," he says. It's really not, but— "He's a bird. As long as he's a bird, I'll be okay."

"You'll be okay if he's a _girl_?" She raises her eyebrows.

"No." He gestures wide and then has to call out "Sorry, Ky!" when he accidentally hits Kylie Minogue. She gives him a strange look, but he just turns back to Gemma and gestures again. "A real bird. The kind you put in a cage. If you love someone, you have to set them free, remember?"

She doesn't look convinced.

"I'm the cage," he clarifies. Then he thinks about the tattoo he no longer has. "I _was_ the cage. The cage is gone now."

That would make a good song lyric. He reaches into his pocket for his phone so he can write it down.

But Gemma grasps his arm gently. "You're missing the second half of that metaphor, Harry."

"No, got it right," he insists.

Then he glances over at Louis and, even though he's still with Heather, Harry can't help but smile. 

"Did you see him last night when Dannii was talking?" Harry asks. "She said it was our best one yet and obviously that was because he finally had a solo. He was doing that thing where he gets all sparkly." He makes a sparkly gesture. "You couldn't see it on the telly but his eyes were crinkly, like, at the sides. They only do that when he's happy for real, you know."

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 5 - [Kids in America](https://youtu.be/6nxTirfs5dM?t=115)


	6. Chapter 6

Harry knows there's a blender somewhere here from the Sainsbury cooking segments. If he has to search through every cupboard in this ridiculously large kitchen, he will — and, ah, there it is. A victory cheer is out of the question right now, though, when he's still wincing against a pounding headache. The water and paracetamol Gemma had forced down him before he left her hotel room this morning have just barely touched it.

A victory cheer would have been premature, anyways, it turns out. Because there isn't anything that even resembles smoothie ingredients in the fridge or the freezer. He stares in disbelief at the a few frozen chicken filets and the lone half-empty carton of milk in the fridge. Sure, Monday is the day they usually restock the kitchen. But this is ridiculous. Was the X Factor house burgled on the one night he slept away?

Harry glances briefly at the bunch of bananas across the kitchen. He briefly considers freezing a few so he can make a smoothie later. But decides it's too much trouble.

So, instead of a hangover smoothie, he's settled instead on just leaning on the fridge door, letting the cold air cool his face when he hears a giggle from behind him.

"Alright there, Curly?" Louis says from his perch on the worktop.

"Yeah," Harry says. He leans back against the cupboards opposite him. "Just got back."

"I know," Louis says. There's an affectionate curve to his lips. "Was lonely last night without you. That's the last time you're allowed to leave me all alone."

"There were three other boys left to entertain you, you know," Harry says. He's not going to ask why Louis didn't stay with Heather last night. Or Saturday night, for that matter.

He was a possessive little shit at sixteen, and maybe he's the same at twenty-four, but at twenty-four he also knows that sometimes you have to let go.

"None of the others are as curly as you," Louis says with a mock-pout. Then he grabs a banana and jumps down to hand it over. "Banana?"

"Oh, cheers," Harry looks at it and adds, inanely, "I like bananas."

Louis lets out a huff of a laugh. "Yeah, figured that one out a long time ago."

He slings an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry can't help snuggling back into Louis' side. He's cozy in an oversized hoodie and smells like shower soap and nice morning.

"Right," Harry says.

"Didn't know you was a lightweight, Hazza," Louis says. "Disappointed in you, if I'm honest. That was shit beer."

"Matt's gin can probably take more credit for my hangover," Harry tells him.

"What?" Louis says sharply. "And he didn't share with me?"

Harry bites his tongue when he finds himself about to point out that Louis was busy with Heather in the corner of the room at the time.

At some point early in the evening, when Gemma had been off chatting with Paije, who turned out to be a friend of a friend at her uni, Harry had found someone trying to steal the empty pint glass from his hand. He'd been about to protest only to find Matt there, filling it with a generous portion of the contents of his Seasiders football club flask.

"What is this?" Harry had asked him, frowning down at the clear liquid.

"A little comfort in case I got voted off tonight," Matt shrugged. He had tilted his head across the room at where Treyc had decidedly red-rimmed eyes. "Going to share it with her. But reckon you could use a little, too."

"What? Why? You're not getting voted off," Harry had told him, frowning. And then his words had registered and he protests, "I'm fine."

Matt had raised his eyebrows and looked meaningfully over at where Louis and pretty-long-blond-haired Heather were talking with Zayn across the room.

Harry knows he's never been good with subtlety regarding his feelings for Louis. But he honestly hadn't known that Matt had realized it — this time or the last time.

But there were more important things last night, and he'd coughed down a good sip of what turned out to be gin before he managed to say, weakly, "They're a nice pair."

Matt had just snorted and said, "Right."

"Oi, Hazza? Still there?" Louis is poking at Harry's chest to get his attention and Harry is back in the present and all-too-bright kitchen.

"Still here," Harry says, burrowing his head into Louis' hoodie and strokes his thumb over the soft side of his hip. He stays like that until he's made to go up and get changed to go to meet Simon for their weekly Monday meeting.

 

 

"This isn't the time to start slacking," Simon says.

Harry glances around at the boys, not sure where Simon got the idea any of them were slacking. But the answer for why he's said that is probably less in their own work ethic than the two-man camera crew set up in front of the giant painting of Simon's face.

"Only the winner is getting a signed contract with Syco, remember," Simon continues. "You've made it this far but you're going to need to work hard to break the curse of the groups."

"We will," Liam promises earnestly.

Harry's sat next to Louis on the sofa, close enough that he can feel the warmth of him pressed against his side. He's too tired and confused about everything involving Louis lately to find the motivation to move away.

The bright side of this morning is that it was obvious when the camera crew were already set up when they arrived at Simon's office, which means that the meeting promises to be more amicable than last week. 

"I know you will. You wouldn't be here if I didn't know I could count on you," Simon says. He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "The theme of this week is Elton John."

"What's our song, then?" Louis asks, shifting beside Harry to lean forwards.

"You will be singing Something About the Way You Look Tonight," Simon says. "This is going to be an important week for you boys. You do well, you'll prove you're worthy of winning this thing. But it won't be easy."

Harry has been waiting for this ever since early last week when he'd scribbled down what he could remember of the songs they had done on The X Factor. There are one or two he couldn't recall, and the ones he can, he's not confident of the order of the weeks. But he did remember this Elton John week well.

Harry glances around at the others to find Louis and Niall both with thoughtful expressions like they're running through it in their heads and Liam is looking at Harry expectantly. If Harry knows Liam — and he really does — Liam's already gone through and listened to all the songs on there, probably made notes on all of them.

"What about 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart'?" Harry asks, turning back to Simon.

"What about it, Harry?" Simon asks, eyes narrowing.

"Well, it's a duet so it's made for multiple singers, would be easier to arrange for the five of us, wouldn't it?" Harry says. "And it's a classic, obviously. Who doesn't like it?"

"Don't worry about the arrangement," Simon says. "Sandeep's already worked it all out. He'll go over it with you when we're done here."

"But it still might be better?" Harry tries. And at Simon's raised eyebrow, he shifts track. "What about I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues?"

"Harry, we've already—"

"I think we could do an interesting boy band take on it," Harry rallies. He can feel all the other boys' eyes on him with varying degrees of disbelief but continues anyways. "It's upbeat and the whole lovelorn message would appeal to our demographic, right?"

Simon's giving him a strange look. "So will the song we've chosen for you."

"Then what about Sad Songs—"

"Are you saying you think that the song we've chosen will be too difficult for you?" Simon says, eyes piercing. "Or perhaps you are not willing to put in the work it will take?"

"Of course not," Liam interjects. He glances at Harry and back at Simon. "We're very happy with the song. And of course we'll work as hard as we need to in order to win."

Simon's eyes linger a moment longer on Harry but then he sits back in his chair and turns to Liam with a nod.

"So I thought," he says.

 

 

"What was that about, Harry?" Niall asks him with a laugh. They have a few minutes before they need to meet Sandeep and Louis and Zayn are leading them down the stairs to a different floor saying something mysteriously about a surprise. "Are ye actually trying get Simon riled up at us?"

"Um," Harry says.

"I'm not the biggest Elton John fan," Zayn says. "But even I'm not going to argue with Simon over our song. He was already angry about the microphones last week. Are you trying to piss him off again?" 

"Oi, lay off," Louis snaps. He throws his arm in front of Harry across the narrow staircase as if he's going to defend him from some actual physical attack. "At least Haz has the balls to say what he thinks."

"What?" Zayn gapes at him. "You know how annoyed Simon was when Belle Amie tried to argue with their song choices and they're gone now."

"Harry, what's wrong with the song, though?" Liam stops on the steps below them and turns around.

"I'm not saying it's not a great song, yeah?" Harry says. He rubs his forehead as he gathers his thoughts. He really should have known better than to drink quite so much last night. "Just, I mean, that it's not so great for us. It's not easy to divide up the lines so it's going to be heavy on one person. And it's not the best song for all our voice types. Even if we change the register—"

"Which we could do," Liam interjects.

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think they'll go for it. They had a reason for choosing it. But I thought if I came up with a few songs that would work better for us, maybe—"

"And how did y'even do that?" Niall interjects. "Did you know this was going to be Elton John week?"

"Er," Harry says. He looks around at the boys who, with the exception of Liam, are all looking curious.

"And if you got insider information, why didn't you share it, then?" Niall pushes. "I mean, sounds like you even knew what song he was going to give us."

"It wasn't like that — I just." Harry bites his lip. He feels Louis tense next to him and continues quickly before he starts to defend him again. "They always have Elton John weeks, don't they? I thought it wouldn't hurt to be prepared."

"I don't actually remember there being one before," Liam starts. And then stops and gives a frustrated sigh when Harry glares meaningfully at him. "No, actually, you must be right. Now that I think about it."

 

 

"You need to tell them," Liam says later.

"I know," Harry says. He stares down at the dingy tiled floor.

"It just feels wrong to keep this from everyone," Liam says, drying his hand on a towel.

" _I know_ ," Harry says again. "But I told you, there's someone I need to tell first. And it's not fair to him to tell anyone else before I can explain it to him."

"But it's been three weeks. Gemma and I know. Why haven't you told him?"

Harry bites his lip. "I just need time. The right time. And the right words to make him understand."

"Could just sing for him, then," Liam says. "It was obvious that day I heard you."

Harry glances up at the mirror in front of them. In it, Liam's reflection runs a hand through his hair, letting it fall fine and straight over his forehead. It's so much longer than it's been in years. 

"Or have him talk to me, then," Liam continues. "I'll help you convince him. And you know I'll help you with the boys."

"It's not that easy," Harry says. "Sure, it'll be hard to make him believe I'm telling the truth. But I think he's possibly the reason I'm here? He's going to have questions. And some of the answers he might not like. And some of them he might be better off not knowing — but some of them he'll need to know. And I don't know which are which yet."

"All right," Liam says. He lets out a long exhale. "Just — soon. Promise?"

"Yes," Harry says. "I promise. And, I mean, even if I don't do it they'll probably find out something's going on soon. I'm sort of a shit liar."

"Yeah," Liam says and laughs. "I noticed that."

"Oi," Harry says, and fake pouts, pushing at Liam's shoulder and it makes him laugh.

"All right, Harry, so you want to tell me now what's wrong with this week's song?"

 

 

What's wrong with this week's song is that Harry has the bulk of it for himself. And, after going over it with Sandeep earlier this afternoon, it was clear that was something that wasn't changing.

He remembers it because it had been the first time they'd entrusted him with more than a few lines of his own in a live show. He assumes they'd figured it was the first week he wasn't likely to completely screw it up or get sick all over the stage. And they hadn't been wrong.

It had been one of the best weekends of Harry's sixteen year old life. Not only had the song gone over really well, and everyone had told him how good he sounded, but that Friday Louis had kissed him for the first time and Harry had been walking on clouds for days.

But Harry doesn't need an opportunity to show off this time. The last thing he wants is a show focused on him, letting him shine while the others are pushed to the background.

He starts to explain this to Liam, but they're interrupted by the other boys bursting through the door with a suspicious pile of shopping bags in their arms and asking them what's been taking them so long in the toilet.

 

 

"This was the surprise? Hoodies?" Liam asks, pulling his out of the bag with a frown. Well, tries to pull it out of the bag. But each time it looks like he thinks he's done, there's more of it.

They're in one of the X Factor cars on the way back to the house. It's one of the smaller cars and once again Louis has plopped himself in Harry's lap.

And Louis isn't any less fit than the last time he'd sat on him for a car ride. Nor have the London roads magically been re-tarmacked. Nor has Harry's body lost that gift for getting instant erections, especially if he hasn't taken the edge off recently.

So, he finds himself, not having jerked off in three days, trying very hard not to be affected by the way Louis bounces in his lap with every bump in the road.

And, as usual, he's failing very hard.

There's a wonderful pun in that and in a different lifetime he would have leaned forwards and whispered that in Louis' ear with a giggle. And in that different lifetime, Louis would have told Harry he had terrible jokes and should just stop trying but he also would have a delighted-devilish look in his eyes as he wriggled in Harry's lap in an attempt to make the situation all the more hard—difficult. All the more difficult.

There's no hope that Louis can't tell the effect he's having. At this point, Harry can only hope that his trousers are going to be restrictive enough that he won't have to do a walk of shame back into the house with a visible erection. Hell, at this point he's resigned to there being a decent chance he'll make a mess in his pants before they even get there.

He's brought out of his thoughts by Louis leaning in to say to him, but keeping his voice loud enough for everyone to hear: "You all right there, Hazza? Been told I have a big bum. Are the seating arrangements getting too difficult, or should I say hard? — for you?"

He glances at Harry and there's a smirk on his lips but a sort of cautious look in his eyes and it takes Harry a second to process what he just said, and when he can't help the squawk of laughter. He claps a hand over his mouth and Louis is properly grinning at him now.

"You're right," Harry says as soon as he can.

"Yeah?" Louis says, eyes still on him.

"Yup," Harry says and can't keep the grin off his face. "You do have a big bum."

"Oi!" Louis exclaims and flicks Harry on the forehead. Harry's now laughing and just tightens his hold around his waist.

"You know, instead of injuring Harry, you could have just squeezed between us like a normal person. Honestly, if the windows weren't tinted the police probably would have stopped us by now." Liam has finally managed to straighten out the large amount of fabric he's pulled out of the bag. He squints at it. "What—wait, is this a onesie?"

 

 

Apparently, Zayn and Louis had noticed the one Paije had got from one of the sponsors and had proceeded to charm one of the production assistants into arranging for a set of them for the whole group.

And so now they're all getting them on for the video diary.

"This is too hot," Liam says, wrinkling his nose down at the onesie that Louis is zipping him into. "Stop that."

"Stop with your complaints, it's not hot. You only think it is because you're all sweaty from running," Louis says.

"I _showered_ ," Liam protests, attempting to bat Louis' hands away from where he's attempting to zip it up all the way over his face. Harry can't stop grinning at the sight. "And maybe if you joined me in the workout room once in a while you wouldn't be so cold."

"Nay, mate, more than one set of abs in the group would just be excessive, don't you think?"

Harry starts to giggle and unfortunately it's enough to overcome the last bit of balance he had and he hits the ground with an 'oof'. Well, to be more precise, he hits Niall, knocks him to the ground and then lands on top of him.

"Harold!" Louis whirls around and takes him in. "Oh, dear lad, what's 'appened here?"

"Um," Harry says, allowing Louis to attempt to right him. It's easier said than done, what with the way his legs are tangled every which way in his onesie. Liam and Louis made it look easy, they put on the onesie over their clothes even. But Harry, even stripped to his pants, is hopelessly tangled.

"Yeah, yeah," Niall groans, still on the ground. "Someone going to help me up?"

Zayn's snickering behind them so it's Liam who rolls his eyes and helps right Niall and readjust his onesie.

"Hmm," Louis is looking Harry up and down, hand on his arm steadying him since, as tangled as he is, not a chance is Harry going to stand up on his own. Harry's aware he's looking him over and there isn't much of him that is covered.

Louis' eyes finally make it up to meet his and his pupils are a little wide, his tongue darts out to lick his lips and Harry knows he doesn't even realize he's doing it, but, god, despite everything, it feels really nice to have Louis look at him like this again.

They're interrupting by a crash from the other corner of the room where Zayn is in his onesie with it zipped over his face and is attempting to navigate his way through their messy room.

"Right, Hazza, you—" Louis starts to say, voice a little hoarse. He reaches for the fabric on either side of Harry and attempts to pull it up. Then narrows his eyes. "Wait, do you have this on backwards?"

"No," Harry says, frowning down.

"Seriously the zip's supposed t'be on the front, how come it's on the back?"

"It is on the front. It just wraps around," Harry explains. 

Louis shakes his head. "For fuck's sake, Harold, it's like you've never even worn a onesie before. It has feet! Do you get your socks on backwards, too?"

"Hey," Harry pouts.

"Actually this sort of explains your nudist tendencies." Louis continues thoughtfully.

"You're the one who never wears socks," Harry points out.

"There's a difference if you do it by choice than if you can't figure out whether your feet are pointed forwards or backwards." Louis says. He shakes his head. "Come on now, love, step out of there and turn it round, going t'make us all late for the video diary."

Ironically, Harry actually has worn these onesies before. Well, not this one specifically. Last time he'd had the white that Niall's now wearing. Louis had had the gray and blue one and now he's in the green one. 

He needs to text Gemma and let her know that the butterfly effect apparently works on onesies, too.

It's not as if he's worn it recently, though. 

His and Louis' onesies had been somewhere in their combined wardrobes for the greater part of two years until Harry had found himself too tall for it. Well, to be honest, it's still up for debate if he'd actually been too tall for it or if Louis had managed to shrink it on one of the rare weeks he'd been in charge of the laundry. From the amount of effort Louis had put in trying to convince Harry it was his own fault for growing four-and-a-half inches, Harry always suspected the latter.

 

 

"So, first question. Isabella wants to know what it feels like to be a twitter trend," Liam reads off the paper once they've finally all got their onesies sorted and are set up on the back stairs.

"What twitter trend?" Harry asks, twisting around to look at Liam on the top step.

"You haven't seen?" Louis taps his leg. "But you've been updating every day. You didn't see all your mentions?"

"No?" Harry says. It had been a lesson he'd had to learn over and over but at some point in the last years he'd finally admitted it was usually best he didn't know.

"What?" Niall asks, a laugh in his voice. "Don't ye want to know what people are saying about you?"

Harry turns back to Liam and asks again, "What twitter trend?"

"#GiveHarryYourMics," Liam says, looking puzzled. "It made it to the top ten in the UK last week. You really didn't notice?"

"So people noticed we switched the mics?"

Liam answers, "Well, until that Telegraph article today, they just thought it was a technical problem or that we were faking it for attention."

"Boys," Pattie, who's still managing their video diaries, is trying to cut in.

"Oh, yeah, you saw that, too?" Zayn says, grinning as if he didn't hear her. He turns to Harry. "Apparently one of the sound guys told that paper that we found out ahead of time that the volumes were all messed up."

"Really?" Harry says. He wonders why he didn't know until now. Normally their PR would be all over that, if not to lecture them then to at least give them talking points for when they're asked in public.

"Boys," Pattie raises her voice. "We really have to—"

"But, wait, that means people are going to know that they were intentionally doing more than normal sound balancing," Harry says.

"Yup," Louis says.

"Wow," Harry says, feeling stunned. He'd of course been seeing the consequences of changes he'd made. He's sat on the stair-step in a blue onesie, after all. And what they'd done on-stage had obviously been in the papers. But this actually has potential to change more than just their own votes.

"There's loads of tweets talking about how the X Factor is fake now, too," Niall contributes. "What with all that about them auto-tuning the auditions that just came out. And I don't think anyone even knows yet that they've been doing it with the live shows, too—"

"Boys," Pattie's voice finally reaches a volume that makes them stop. "You realize we can't use any of what you just said, don't you? Let's just start again on that question."

"Sorry," Liam apologizes.

Everyone settles back in facing forwards.

"So, Isabella wants to know—"

"Wait," Louis says, raising his hand. "Which twitter trend are we supposed t'be answering about?"

"Louis," Pattie starts.

"There's another one?" Harry asks.

"Tis #GiveLouisYourMics now," Niall says. He's got his phone out and is holding it down for Harry to see. "They figured it out because—" And he must see Pattie's narrow-eyed glare because he stops there.

"Number twelve," Louis reads off the phone screen. He wiggles his eyebrows at Harry. "Going to get more microphones than you, soon, Curly."

"Better than carrots," Zayn says.

Patty claps her hands and says, "All right, boys, how about we skip that question altogether. Niall, if you can just — no, put your phone away. No more talk about twitter for this week in fact. And don't bring up carrots again, please, either. They've been complaining at reception. What's the next question?"

"All right, then," Liam says. He clears his throat. "Lilyanne wants to know who of us have girlfriends and who are single."

"What, seriously?" Zayn protests. "We just answered this. Twice. What, do they think our answers have changed in three days?"

Harry feels a tugging at his hair where Louis has pulled a curl out from under the hood of his onesie. He shoots him a small smile.

"We'll cut that," Pattie says, giving them an impatient hand wave. "Just keep going with your answers, please, boys. Harry, why don't you start. Any girlfriend for you?"

"No girlfriend for me," Harry parrots back. He leans into where Louis has his hood half-pushed back now and is running his fingers through his hair.

Zayn says from behind him, "Me neither."

"Or me," Niall says.

"I'm single," Liam's voice carries from above them.

"Me, too," Louis says. Harry's hair tugs a little at where he's trying to wrap it around his finger.

"All right, next — wait, what did you say?" Pattie says.

Harry pulls back to look at Louis, too. Louis' eyes are on him, he looks a little cautious, belied by his nonchalant shrug as he turns back to Pattie.

"I said I'm single?"

"What? Did you and Heather break up?" Niall asks.

Pattie holds a hand up. "Who knows about this?"

"She does, I would hope," Louis says. "Me mum, me best mate Stan—"

"I meant from the staff," Pattie says tensely.

"Well, you do, now," Louis says.

Harry can't stop staring in bewilderment.

"You're supposed to have a girlfriend," she says.

"But I... don't?" he says.

"All right, we'll do that one again. For now — and until we tell you otherwise — keep saying you have a girlfriend."

"Really? Why?"

Instead of answering, she sighs and says, "And if you could possibly stop touching your bandmate while you say it, that would be grand."

"I'm not — oh." Louis looks down to where he's fiddling with Harry's hair, as if hadn't even noticed he'd started doing that. He shoots Harry a small, confused smile and gives Harry's hair a pat as if to flatten it back out before pulling his hand away. He turns back to the camera and says, "All right, this' bit barmy, but okay, let's do it."

 

 

After establishing for the video diary watchers that Zayn's favorite chat-up line is 'vas happening' and that everyone wants to be Louis for a day — except Louis, who would like to be Harry so he could have curly hair — they manage to sneak out the garden door to steal a rare few minutes in the sunshine.

"That was strange," Louis says, frowning down at his phone. "I don't — why did they want me t'say I still have a girlfriend?"

"Dunno, mate. Why didn't you tell us you didn't still have a girlfriend?" Zayn asks.

Louis is looking down at his phone, where's he's scrolling through the contacts under the cracked screen. "Do you think I should tell her what I said in the diary? I don't even know if she's going to watch it, but she's going to be confused if she does."

"Well, I'm the one confused now," Niall says. He grabs a Cadbury Flake from his pocket and pops it in his mouth. He holds another out to Harry but Harry shakes his head. "Why didn't you tell us? She was right fit."

"What? You wanted him to tell you so you could try to chat her up? I wonder why Louis didn't want to tell you," Liam says.

Louis looks up from his phone, blinks a look Harry's way then back at the other boys.

"Because last I saw you two at the after-party, you didn't look broken up," Zayn pushes.

"Because we weren't? Not at the beginning of the party," Louis says.

Harry stares for a minute, feeling just as confused as the others look. But he then mentally shakes himself. He needs to stop acting like a sixteen year old and someone who can actually help Louis out here.

"If he doesn't want to talk about it, he shouldn't have to, yeah?" Harry says, stepping forwards a little to put himself in front of Louis.

"Haz, it's okay. It's just—" Louis starts.

Harry doesn't make him finish. Instead he gestures at the phone in his hands.

"You should tell her that they're having you let people believe you're still together," he tells him. "You could text her. Or, like, have Stan or your mum pass it on. It might not be a bad thing no one knows yet, she might actually appreciate not having to deal with answering questions about why you broke up yet. Because it won't be just your friends but all the twitter and Facebook followers she has from you being on here. There'll likely be reporters who try to contact her, too."

Louis' eyes widen. "Shit. I didn't think about that."

"It'll probably die down quickly," Harry reassures him. "It's still real early."

He thinks about that for a second.

"Actually, maybe it's too bad they're not letting it out today. If the stories about the auditions autotuning and the microphones are coming out now, everyone's going to be too busy to care." Harry shakes his head. "But, yeah, whenever it does, we can just downplay in the interviews. And if it still gets her any attention, we can do something distracting."

"Distracting?" Liam repeats.

"Yeah, like, Liam can post another shirtless pic. Or I could get papped walking down the road with Cher. It'll work out."

"But you don't like girls," Louis says slowly, his eyes searching Harry's face.

"I mean," Harry says with a shrug. "No one knows that, though."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Zayn says as they sit down in a sunny spot on the grass. "Why don't you just say something? When you get asked those questions about girls?" Harry frowns at him. "I mean, obviously you shouldn't feel like you have to if you don't want to. But from what Gemma was saying it sounds like you've never really not been... out?"

"It's not that simple," Harry says.

"Why not?" Niall asks. "When I asked ye last week about Lo—" he shoots a quick — and far too obvious — glance in Louis' direction before he bites his tongue. "—Laney. You could have said something."

"Who's Laney?" Liam asks.

"I'm just not, like, used to it. To saying it," Harry says to Niall. He fiddles with a piece of grass. "It could really cock it up for us if I get in the habit."

"For us as a band?" Zayn says. "Honestly, Haz, I don't think people would really care. Have you seen those online forums? Half of the people on there think we're all dating each other, anyways."

"All of us at once?" Niall looks around at all of them. Then shrugs. "Wouldn't mind. Ye're all fit young lads. I'd get on a ship with you."

"That's not what I—" Zayn starts. "What—why are we getting on a ship?"

"You know, the ship." Niall makes a gesture that doesn't seem to help his point any but does help in getting chocolate flakes scattered over the grass.

"Why are we talking about boats?" Liam asks, looking even more lost than Zayn.

"I'm just worried about what we'd call it," Niall continues. "Could be awkward with so many names." 

"Aye, because the name is the part that would be awkward in that situation," Louis cuts in dryly.

But Niall's looking around at them and ticking off — "Li-Lo-Ha-Za-"

"S'like one of them rubbish singing exercises. I take it back, the name would be the most awkward part," Louis says.

"-iall!" Niall finishes. "Lilohazaiall. It'll have to be a big ship for it to fit on the side."

"Well, there would be five of us plus provisions," Harry says, biting back a smile. "We'd probably need a big ship anyways."

"Finally a helpful contribution," Niall says. "I'll be the captain of your ship, Harry."

"Oi." Louis knocks Niall's hand down before Harry can return his fist bump. He drags Harry back with his arms around his waist. "Harry's on my ship."

"I thought we were all on the same ship," Zayn says. "Did someone jump off?"

"Louis was a secret pirate!" Niall bellows. "He's kidnapping Harry!"

Louis snatches one of Niall's Cadbury Flake bars, rips the wrapper off and raises it like a sword. "Ye want him back, you'll have t'fight us, laddy."

 

 

Harry updates twitter that night with the caption "En garde!" and a photo of Niall and Louis in onesies in dueling stance with Cadbury Flakes pointed at each other. 

He can't remember the last time he laughed as hard as he did today.

 

 

It's the next afternoon and Harry and Liam have managed grab the practice room that hasn't been claimed by Cheryl for practices with her girls. Harry grabs one of the guitars and sits in the chair next to him.

"More changes you want to make to the song?" Liam asks.

Harry shrugs. He's about resigned by now to singing it the way Sandeep's divvied up the parts. So instead he asks, "Do you?"

Harry arranges his fingers on the frets of the guitar. He doesn't have the calluses he has in the future and when he strums a chord, the strings cut into the pads of his fingers.

"I just still don't see why it's a bad thing for you to have a bigger part," Liam says. "It wouldn't sound bad if you weren't holding back so much in rehearsals. Weren't you upset with Louis last week for the same thing?"

"It's not the same thing," Harry says. He strums out another chord.

"No?"

"I can't just — it wouldn't be fair," Harry says.

"Oh." Liam says. He sits back in his chair. "I mean, obviously no one's going to ever presume we have a popstar singer from eight years in the future with us. But do you reckon it's still cheating?"

"What's that?" Harry looks up and focuses on Liam for the first time. "Oh, no. That's not what I meant. Can you even cheat at a rigged contest?"

"It's rigged?" Liam says, sitting up straighter. "Really? Do you know that?"

"I don't know. It might be," Harry says. "What I meant, though, was it's not fair to you all. It was bad enough the first time round, how they kept trying to focus the attention on me. I mean, fans always had their favorites of us, but our team did their best to make me out to be..." He waves a hand. "I just don't want to be that again. And that's not the only thing. If I'm getting too much attention — remember how Zayn asked me yesterday about coming out?"

"You said it was complicated," Liam says. "And, about that, Harry, I'm sorry for the other day. I wasn't expecting you to say _that_ , obviously you know I was trying to get you to tell everyone that you're from the future."

Harry sighs. "I know, Li and I'm working on it. I tried to find time to talk to him a couple of times yesterday, but I kept getting interrupted and it's only fair he knows first."

"But Zayn was right, I was kind of stupid about it," Liam continues. He ducks his eyes. "No one's ever, like, come out to me before."

"You weren't stupid, you were fine, Li." Harry shakes his head and tries to bite back a smile. Anyone who thinks Liam Payne is homophobic hasn't seen him grind with Louis on stage in front of ten thousand fans. "And I was telling the truth when I said I'd never told anyone I was gay before, so we're even, yeah?"

"Wait, who is he?" Liam asks suddenly.

"Who?"

"The person you have to tell," Liam says. "Is it Louis?"

Harry hesitates. "Um, why would you think that?"

"Niall reckoned there was something off between you two last week. Made me wonder," Liam says.

"That fucking kid," Harry says but he knows there's affection in his voice. And there's affection in Liam's answering laugh, too.

The door suddenly thrusts open and both of them look up to see — Niall Horan, naturally.

"Alright!" he says, grinning, his own guitar in hand. "We practicing?"

"Sure," Harry says. He scoots his chair over so there's room for Niall to drag one over to join himself and Liam. "Sandeep's going to be late. And Louis and Zayn—" He checks his phone and, just as he does, a new text pops up. "Looks like they're still stuck at the Euston station. The underground must be crowded with the student protests taking over the roads."

"What are they protesting?"

Harry glances at Liam and they both shrug.

"Well, no matter, we're here and we've got guitars and—" Niall seems to take in Harry for the first time. "Hey, you've have a guitar! Thought ye didn't play. Been holding out on us."

"He's been holding out on us on a few things," Liam says under his breath.

"I don't play very well," Harry tells him, and that has the benefit of being the truth.

"Still, man, that's grand!" Niall says. He strums a few practice chords with a lot more ease than Harry had. "So what are we singing?"

 

 

Obviously, they'd been practicing a good deal the few weeks that Harry's been back in 2010. But it's mostly been with Sandeep, or repeating run-throughs of their same song in their spare time.

Harry had forgotten how much he'd just making music with his boys. Niall and Liam probably love music more than any of them, and that's saying a lot. Watching them mess about, singing through a few of songs just for fun, gives Harry a twist of nostalgia.

And then he starts getting ideas. He grabs a pencil and his diary and starts scribbling them down.

And it's somewhere between them laughing and trying out and tweaking different parts of the song that they end up with some decent changes to this week's song.

Harry forgets all his rationale for not going all out on this song and — just forgets himself for a while, too. They play with Harry voice going low like Elton John's, with adding in high notes, with changing the inflections at the end of the verses. He doesn't yet have the control of his voice he know he can, but it's not bad.

Especially when Harry realizes that Niall has more of the strength and raspiness to his voice than he'd thought he'd had at this time. With that boosting Harry's solos and Liam rounding them out with some easy harmonies —

Well, the song does suit Harry, after all. And, in a time when him taking over this week's show didn't matter, it might have been a lot of fun to do properly.

 

 

"And naturally we'll need a flat-screen telly for the PlayStation," Louis says.

They're sprawled out on the veranda. Inside Harry can hear the clanging of pots as the Sainsbury Try Team sets up for another segment tonight. Louis is sprawled out in one of the garden chairs and Harry's squeezed in between him and the armrest, half on top of Louis and resting his head on his shoulder. It's warm enough between the handful of warm days this week and their hoodies and shared body heat, that staying out here after sunset isn't so bad.

"A flat-screen telly? Okay, sure," Harry repeats lazily. "What is it you're talking about, though?"

"Our London flat, keep up," Louis says.

And Harry remembers that, yes, they had been talking about getting a flat together, even this early. As early as the first live show when they'd promised they would try to stay together as a band if they got kicked off.

Harry had thought himself so old and mature at the time. Now, eight years on, he realizes it never occurred to him that his mum and Gemma were expecting him to come home. Hadn't realized it must have been a bit of a shock for them when he never did.

Louis prods him in the side. "Are you even listening? Niall'll never visit if we don't have FIFA for him to play, Haz."

"Niall will be over as long as there's food in the kitchen," Harry corrects him.

Louis thinks a moment then says, "Fair point. Liam, though. Now the only way we'll get him to visit a flat I'm occupying is if there are video games."

"What? That's not true," Harry says. He twists in the chair so he can face Louis. "I can't believe you and Li still haven't realized you don't hate each other."

"What?" Louis' voice is skeptical but his blue, blue eyes are still so soft in the outdoor light. Harry's made a lifetime's worth of study of the ways Louis looks at him and this is one of his favorites, the way his eyes go soft and tender when he doesn't even realize it.

"Actually," Harry cuts in. "There's, um, something I wanted to tell you."

"Something more important than our future entertainment system?" Louis raises his eyebrows. "Must be serious, then."

"Yeah, er," Harry says. "See, the thing is..."

"What thing?" Louis prompts him after waiting a good bit for Harry to continue. 

"I meant to tell you earlier, I wanted to, I promise. I mean, you probably won't even believe me, but—" 

Someone else might think it's a small miracle that Louis hasn't interrupted his rambling yet. But Louis is always like that with him, acting like everything Harry says is the most important thing in the world, even when he's saying nothing at all.

And so Harry looks at him determinedly and starts to say—

Nothing.

Because before he can even get half a real word out, the door to the kitchen is banging open and Mary's throwing aprons at them and saying, before the door slams closed behind her, "Git back in 'ere, boys. Dinner's not gonna cook itself!"

Harry looks from the contestants crowding into the kitchen inside and then back down to Louis. Louis lets out a laugh even as he's still looking at Harry with soft eyes.

Harry manages to extricate himself from the chair without tipping them both over, but Louis tugs him back before he can get very far.

"You can't think you can just go in there like that." Louis eyes him critically. "You're all a mess, hair so _curly_."

"M'hair's always curly," Harry says, biting back a smile.

"Aye, but you're going t'be on the telly, Harreh!" Louis exclaims. "Luckily, I have just the thing for you."

"Do you?" Harry asks.

And Louis reaches behind him and proudly brandishes the solution.

 

 

It's a good five minutes before Louis has to give up on getting the wig to stay over Harry's head of thick curls. Louis is not a quitter and Harry knows he would have continued trying — he'd been just about to summon someone to bring them hair grips, in fact — but Zayn had opened the door, hissed "You are not leaving me to do this by myself" and then forcibly dragged them back inside.

It's not a complete loss, though. When this week's cooking segment is posted online, there is a lovely Zayn look-alike with long straight white hair stirring a delicious-looking pot of cauliflower cheese.

(Delicious- _looking_ , only, Harry knows, because he'd been assigned as one of the official taste testers and, though he'd given it high marks, it had actually tasted like a plastic foot.)

 

 

It's Thursday and the premiere of the first Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. They're not going to the premiere — The X Factor had only got ahold of five tickets and they were quickly bagsied by other contestants — but they are going to stand on the red carpet and get their photos taken next to people more famous than them.

And so they're set up in the X Factor hotel suite off Leicester Square to get themselves sorted beforehand.

And Louis goes through three wardrobe changes before he's allowed out of the hotel.

The first wardrobe change is because Louis had managed to sneak a onesie over with them.

While Harry and the other boys stand in front of Louis to shield him from anyone realizing what he's doing.

Harry can't help but complain that it's actually his onesie Louis has purloined for the task. And when Louis points out that it's only fair because there were grass and chocolate stains on his own from when he had to duel for Harry's honor, Harry reminds him that it was actually Niall who was dueling for Harry's honor. Louis was the one trying to steal it.

"Lies!" Louis exclaims as he emerges from behind them. His eyes, before Zayn finishes zipping up the hood of the onesie to cover them, are sparkling delightedly at Harry.

As Louis stumbles through the suite with is head covered, guided by Niall and Zayn. He earns a nice laugh from Aiden and Matt, a shy giggle from Rebecca, an exasperated huff and eye-roll from Cher and a "why didn't I think of that?" from Paije.

To their credit, Grace and her small but long-suffering team of stylists don't bat an eye, even when he persists at pretending he doesn't realize the problem. They just point him firmly towards the toilet to change into his actual costume.

The second outfit he picks out is a blazer and slacks with a scarf and the striped top that Harry's been taking to borrowing. Presumably it's his real choice. Though it's a lot more casual than Harry's used to at these events, Zayn and Paije are the only ones of them in actual button-down shirts, anyways.

But Louis barely makes it back to join them when Grace eyes him critically and then says, no, and makes him take off the top and follow her into one of the bedrooms to get changed yet again.

At the other end of the lounge, Wagner is telling a story in a booming accent with widely encompassing gestures and Matt and Aiden are watching in something akin to horror.

There is shrieking in the bedroom where the girls are changing that sounds like Cher and Katie. Harry can't tell if it's shrieks of excitement or anger, but as far as he knows they haven't actually got into the scratching-mauling fist fights that The Sun seems to think they have, so they're probably all right.

Harry glances down at where Louis' top and scarf are discarded on a table. Harry is the only one of the boys not fully dressed yet and, well, if Louis isn't allowed to wear his own clothing, someone should get to.

Louis comes out a few minutes later in all black from his shirt to his blazer to his slacks.

"What did they do to you?" Harry blurts out with half a laugh. 

Niall turns around and stares. "What on earth? Mate, you were hardly gone, like, a minute."

"Dunno what 'appened," Louis says. He reaches up and cautiously feels at his hair. "Emptied a bottle of gel onto me head and then shoved me back out here."

Liam takes a cautious poke at Louis' hair and says, "It's very... crunchy?"

"Ta, mate," Louis says and then twists around. "Don't know who was meant to wear this shirt but it wasn't anyone my size. You should see how many pins they've got on it. Probably trying t'get me impaled on them." 

"Fair revenge for trying to bring in that onesie," Zayn says from where he's slouched on the sofa next to Niall.

"That's rich coming from the person who was planning t'join me and just chickened out at the last minute."

Zayn just shrugs and turns back to his phone.

Louis turns to Harry. His eyes narrow.

And then—

"Grace!" he yells. And then again, when she doesn't immediately appear, he whirls around to call in the direction of the bedrooms. "Grace! Fashion emergency! Where are you?"

"For goodness sake, Louis Tomlinson. What is it?" she says as she comes out of the girls' room.

"Look." Louis points at Harry's chest.

She turns to Harry and gives him a smile. "Yes, Harry is looking very handsome. Now will you let me back to my actual work?"

"He's wearing my clothes!" Louis exclaims.

Harry can see that everyone in the room is now staring at Louis like he's mad, so Harry gives him a cheeky grin.

"You wouldn't let _me_ wear them," Louis argues.

She hums and says, "Well, perhaps they look better on him?"

"What?" Louis yelps, grabbing at his chest over his heart. "How could ye—"

"Stop that, you'll wrinkle it," she says mildly, tugging the material of his blazer out of his hand. "Now, boys, before we have any more fashion emergencies, why don't you pin on your remembrance poppies and head downstairs?"

 

 

Louis is toying with the hem of Harry's top — well, his own top, that happens to be on Harry — when one of the production assistants suddenly peeks into their hotel lounge room and tells them to act surprised. Before any of them can ask why, Daniel Radcliff walks in.

As the boys all jump up and yell in what is probably only slightly feigned excitement, the PA steps around the cameras and over to Louis. Harry hears her prompt him, "Ask him how hot Hermione is."

"That's a weird thing t'ask, innit?" Louis says, pulling back. "Does he have more eyes than the rest of us?"

But, probably because he's as used to filming half-scripted segments as any of them, Louis doesn't argue the point any further. He steps forwards, looking intently interested, and asks, "So, how hot _is_ Hermione?"

At this, Daniel starts to stammer out an answer that somehow involves both him thinking of her like a sister as well as giving them his permission to fantasize about her.

Harry's sure those must be his usual talking points and doesn't know why he'd still be so flustered by them, but he finds himself cringing in sympathy for — well, all of them, really, but probably Emma Watson most of all.

So Harry interrupts with the first thing he thinks of, which is, "What about Hedwig?"

There's a beat of silence and then Daniel turns around to face him. "What?"

"Did you get to hold her?" Harry asks. "Is she as soft as she looks?"

After another confused moment, Daniel says, "Well, there are actually three owls that play Hedwig."

But he quickly warms to this topic and launches into a discussion about how her death in this film fits into the greater narrative arc.

"Spoilers!" Louis screeches at the same time that Niall's leaping up and running in circles with his hands over his ears yelling about how he didn't know they were going to kill an _owl_.

Niall knocks into one of the camerawomen and she almost hit the chandelier with the extensible microphone and then Liam's up chasing him and trying to subdue him before he breaks anything valuable and Zayn's doubled over laughing.

And Daniel Radcliff, for all that he's looking a bit stunned at the direction this meet-and-greet has gone, is at the same time also looking like this is a lot less awkward than the direction it was supposed to go.

So Harry counts it as a job well done.

Especially because, when he pulls Daniel aside as they're made to leave, he obtains a promise that the three real-life Hedwigs are still alive and well.

 

 

They still have time before the red carpet and so Louis makes for the loo to fix his hair from the scuffle. 

Harry follows him in and hops up to sit on the vanity.

Louis is leaning over the basin, peering into the gilded mirror and picking cautiously at the stiffly-gelled strands of hair swept across his forehead.

"What did those people do to me hair?"

"It's fine," Harry assures him. Their stylists always seemed to have more fun with Louis' hair than anyone else's and so he's seen Louis with probably a hundred different hairstyles, often multiple on the same day. Usually they only involve this much product if they're trying for a particularly impressive quiff, but still.

Louis frowns at his reflection.

"Lou, is everything all right?" 

"'Course." Louis turns to him. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry shrugs. Louis, especially early on, was hyperactive and dramatic on a good day. Still, Harry knows that he usually only gets this intense when there's an actual reason for it.

But when Harry looks back up at him, Louis quickly turns away.

Harry fiddles with the tassels on the Victorian lamp beside him and waits another moment. But if Louis doesn't want to talk, Harry knows well enough he's not going to be able to make him. 

As long as they're alone, though, there is a thing Harry needs to talk about. The timing's not optimal but he's been failing in all his other attempts to get Louis alone for long enough.

So Harry swallows and says, "I, er, have something I need to tell you."

That makes Louis look back. His expression is softer this time. "Is this the same thing you wanted to tell me last night?"

Harry nods. "I've been trying, and I still haven't come up with the right way to say it."

Louis steps closer, between Harry's legs.

"But I..." Harry can't help but be distracted by how close Louis is. In the lamplight, he traces the shadows of Louis' lashes over his cheekbones.

Louis tucks some of Harry's hair back from his face. His palm warm against his cheek.

"I just—" Harry tries to start again.

And then Louis leans even closer in. He brushes his lips lightly over Harry's. And Harry's heart just — stops.

Louis pulls back and takes Harry in with nervous eyes. Harry can feel the tremor in his hand against his cheek.

Harry stares.

"Please tell me that you —" Louis visibly swallows. His voice is a little hoarse as he continues, "I think we could be good together, H. I just — do you want this?"

For a moment all Harry can do is nod. But then he finds his voice and says, "Always."

And then his heart suddenly starts beating again, all in a rush.

"Fucking _always_ , Lou."

He bunches his fists in Louis' shirt and kisses him back. Louis' lips part and Harry pushes into the heat of his mouth. He tightens his legs around Louis' hips. Harry's heart is pounding in his chest and he hears Louis moan, high and desperate, feels Louis' fingers tighten in his hair and —

Louis rips back from Harry's mouth, panting for air. 

"Harry, Hazza," he says, voice broken-off.

Harry lets his head fall down to Louis' shoulder. He presses his lips into the sweat-tinged skin of his neck while he tries to catch his own breath.

And then there's suddenly a loud ding. They both jerk up.

Louis darts his eyes over to where his phone's on the edge of the basin.

"My phone," he says.

"Yeah."

Louis makes a move to reach for it when his shirt catches at where Harry's still got his hands clutched in it.

"Sorry," Harry says, and has to forcibly unclench them. "Sorry."

"God, no, Haz, you're—"

"Yeah?" Harry says, looking up into his eyes.

"You're perfect," Louis whispers. His eyes are on Harry's lips and he's leaning in again when the phone dings for the second time, making them both startle back.

Harry giggles a little and Louis shoots him a shy smile.

"You should get that," Harry says.

"I should," Louis agrees.

 

 

A few minutes later, they're stood, with the other X Factor contestants, at the far end of the red carpet, posing for the paparazzi in between real celebrities arriving.

Not far from them, the Harry Potter stars are getting their photos taken. One of their handlers keeps reminding Emma Watson to slouch down so she's not towering over the boys. Harry hears her mutter something about why they made her wear these bloody high heels in the first place and Harry thinks it's an excellent point.

She comes over and the last time Harry had run into her, a couple of years ago, she had mistaken him for attempting to chat her up and hadn't been pleased. Tonight, she just gives all of them cheek-kisses and tells them she's rooting for them.

After she walks away, a paparazzo gruffly orders Harry out of the way because he's blocking their shot of Sir Kenneth Branagh. Harry complies without any hesitation. The last time Harry and Sir Kenneth Branagh had been on the red carpet together, the same thing had, to Harry's eternal embarrassment, happened the opposite way around. This is much less awkward.

The night goes on.

Zayn and Liam get their photos taken with someone in a death eater mask.

Niall disappears and when he shows back up he's got a selfie with Dumbledore on his phone and a claim that he and Michael Gambon spent five minutes bonding over their Irish boyhoods.

And every time Harry glances over at Louis, he finds him looking back with a soft smile on his lips.

 

 

That night, Louis climbs the bunk behind him. And, just like any other night, he wraps Harry in his arms. But tonight, Harry reaches down and tangles their fingers together. Tonight, Louis squeezes him tighter and presses a kiss to the back of Harry's neck.

 

 

"Pop, flop, or fiiiiiiizzle!" Aiden announces out in an over-the-top voice to rival Louis'.

Liam presses play on the phone they're handed and they dance and sway and boogie in place to the tinny sounds of the latest new releases. 

At the end of the first song, Louis gives it a pop. Liam gives it a fizzle. And it takes Harry a couple of tries to make the 'pop' sound with his cheek, but once he manages it, he gives it a pop as well.

After the first song, they relocate to the sofa. Louis sits down with his arm slung over the back, nodding at Harry invitation and Harry doesn't hesitate this time to take his seat beside him.

The last song is from The Saturdays and Harry can't resist saying, "Brilliant vocals by Frankie Sanford."

"What about the rest of them?" Liam asks.

"And the rest of them," Harry agrees. He snuggles into Louis' side, where he's extra cuddly today in a thick jumper. "But also Frankie Sanford."

Louis looks like he's biting back a smile.

Once Aiden and the cameras have gone onto the next set of contestants, Liam tells them that Louis is as bad as Harry, giving 'pop' to every single song they have them listen to.

"It doesn't mean anything if you do that," Liam complains.

"Unlikely it means anything anyways, pal. We're not exactly Rolling Stone critics here, are we?" Louis retorts. "I'm not going to be the one to tell anyone on live telly I don't like their music."

"But —" Liam starts. Then shakes his head and stands up to leave. "Never mind. Sound check in a few minutes, yeah?"

Once they're alone, Louis, who knows full well that they've all called Frankie Sanford his female look-alike, turns to Harry and says, "Big fan of The Saturdays, are you, Harry?"

"Huge fan," Harry says seriously.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. He watches Louis' eyes drop to his lips.

For weeks he's been so close to Louis, spending all day with him, touching him, holding him. And, though it all, he has been trying very, very hard not to do any of that with any intent.

But Louis has kissed him a day early.

And Harry is feeling as dizzy with a new crush as he had when he was really sixteen.

And, god, Harry would give anything to not interrupt whatever is about to come next here. But he can't let this go on without telling Louis the truth.

So he pulls back from Louis and is about to speak —

And Niall comes and announces their ride ready to take them to Wembley.

 

 

Liam crosses his arms and says, "You're not singing it right."

There were technical problems — actual technical problems, this time — in the middle of their sound check, so they have a short break. The boys have all made for the back room where lunch is laid out, but Liam had held Harry back.

"What do you mean?" Harry says. He knows he's playing stupid and knows it's annoying but he's tired of going over this again.

Liam runs a hand through his hair. "Why won't you sing it the way we practiced with me and Niall? I thought we had some good changes."

"We did," Harry says. "But you know why I can't. It's going to get more attention and it's not fair to the rest of you—"

"I don't reckon any of the others will mind us sounding better than we might have," Liam says stubbornly.

Harry paces the short length of the empty dressing room Liam had brought him to.

"Look, you said we got third place in your time, right? And that you don't know if it's actually rigged or not?" Liam says. Harry turns back to him and nods. "So what if it's not rigged and what if we do worse this time than we would have? Third place isn't winning but it at least gets us to the final. And, sure, maybe you're eight years older and some kind of popstar, but I don't think we can withstand having one of our members not even trying out there."

"That's not fair, Li," Harry says. He wraps his arms around himself. "I am trying. I've been singing up there with you this whole time. And I helped you out with a lot these last weeks, with working on vocals and rearranging the parts."

Liam nods but there's a stubborn line to his jaw.

"You did. But right now? I'd take 2010 Harry over all that. Because he was right here with us. He was part of this group. He was one of us."

"And I'm not?" Harry asks in a small voice. He feels his stomach dropping down.

"I don't know!" Liam says, throwing his hands in the air. "What am I supposed to think when you'll barely sing? When you won't even tell the others who you are? You keep saying you just have to tell Louis first, but you've had weeks and you still haven't. I wouldn't even know anything if I hadn't found out on my own, would I?"

"Liam—"

"What is this even about, anyways?" he asks. "Do you even want to be here? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to go through a stupid singing contest with a group of children, but —"

"No, Li, please, you have it wrong," Harry insists. "That's all I want. I promise."

Liam just shakes his head and turns to walk away. Harry grasps for his arm.

"Don't just go," he pleads. "Look, I'll—"

"Harry, I can't do this anymore," he says and shakes Harry's hand off as he reaches for the door.

The door that hadn't been all the way closed.

The door to the hallway where the other three-fifths of One Direction are staring back at them.

 

 

Eight years ago: Pop, Flop or Fizzle - ["...brilliant vocals by Frankie"](https://youtu.be/voPbcxL-zeo?t=873)


	7. PART TWO - Chapter 7

PART TWO

 _You and me_  
_got a whole lot of history_  
\- "History" (One Direction, 2015)

Liam freezes with his hand on the door and they all stare back at each other.

"So," Niall finally breaks the silence, holding up sandwiches in both his hands. "We were just bringing lunch, yeah?"

Louis shoots him a sharp, disbelieving look. "That's all you're going to say? That we brought _lunch_?" He turns on Liam, then. "Were you seriously just telling Harry he shouldn't be in our group?"

Liam throws up his hands. "That's not what I—"

"He's twice as talented as you," Louis snaps. He steps in between Liam and Harry. "If you have a problem with that, maybe you should be the one t'—"

"Louis!" Harry exclaims. He grabs for Louis' arm and pulls him back. "That's not what he was saying."

"Yeah, mate," Zayn says in a quieter voice. He closes the door behind himself and Niall. "Might be focused on the wrong part of the conversation, there."

"What part should I be focused on, Zayn?" Louis demands. "Because Niall wants to talk about lunch and I think the part where Liam was trying to get Harry to leave the group was a bloody important part."

"I wasn't—" Liam starts to protest.

"Maybe the part where Harry's keeping a secret from us?" Zayn crosses his arms. "I'd like to know more about that."

"Or what about when Liam said Harry was eight years older and a popstar?" Niall drops the stacks of partially eaten sandwiches on the makeup table and mutters at Louis, "And I want to talk about more than lunch, you git."

Harry looks helplessly around the dressing room the five of them are now crowded into. This couldn't possibly have gone worse.

"So," Harry says finally. "I'm eight years older. And, um, time travel apparently exists? Yeah, that's the secret."

There are three incredulous pairs of eyes on him. Harry glances over at Liam, but he's looking away, shoulders are slumped down, looking as helpless as Harry feels.

"I promise I wanted to tell you," Harry says, looking at Louis. "I was going to, I just — it's not that easy."

"Hazza, I know sometimes your jokes can get a little—"

"Not a joke, Lou," he says quietly.

And before he has to explain any more, the door swings open, knocking into Liam, and revealing a harried production assistant who lets out a sigh of relief at seeing them.

"Mr Cowell's waiting," she says, shooing them out the room with her clipboard. "Come on, time to go."

 

 

As exciting and glamorous as it had seemed for Harry when he'd been properly living away from home for the first time, the One Direction room in the X Factor house is actually quite small and kind of dingy. It's chilly, too, seeing as someone had forgotten to close the window when they'd left for sound check that morning and it's well past dark now.

Liam is shoving them closed as Harry looks around the room as if he's truly seeing it with his twenty-four year old eyes for the first time. Two bunks, one single bed. Matching brown duvets on each one. Louis' bottom bunk is covered in wrinkled clothing, at least one suitcase, more clothing, and Harry's old laptop with its flashing low-battery light. 

There are more clothes on the floor and only a few shirts actually hung up on their clothes rack and those are still looking rather rumpled. The single bedside table is crowded with hairspray and deodorants.

Niall and Zayn are sat side-by-side on Zayn's bottom bunk and they're both so painfully young-looking. Niall with his narrow jaw, crooked teeth, newly re-bleached hair, as he fiddles with the strings on the guitar beside him. Zayn without scruff or tattoos, just a drooping quiff and a single fake-crystal earring in his left earlobe, bundled in an oversized hoodie. 

Louis' sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. He's still got on the oversized comfy jumper he'd been wearing this morning at the Pop, Flop or Fizzle Game. Harry can't believe that was just hours ago and he would give a lot to go back to then.

Liam shoves the window shut and goes to stand next to the other boys. He's all square jaw and dark splotches under his eyes as he leans tiredly against the bedpost and folds his arms. 

"So... you're in New York?" Zayn finally speaks up and Harry realizes he's paused too long in trying to tell the story.

"Right," Harry says. He's already wishing someone else could just tell it. Someone who talked faster than him, preferably. Then they could be almost done with it instead of barely two sentences in.

But there isn't anyone else, so he just resumes pacing across the small section of floor that isn't covered in clothing.

"So summers in New York are... they're worse than LA during the Santa Anas. I don't know, it's like with all the tall buildings, it's stifling." He stops, stares out the dark window. "But I was getting tired of air conditioning. Air-conditioned stadium to air-conditioned car to air-conditioned apartment. And my friend's hotel room wasn't that far away and so walking seemed preferable."

He adds ruefully, "It sucked for my bodyguard, since he's twice my size and always insists on wearing leather jackets even when it's eighty-eight degrees out."

He turns around to face the boys. "Eighty-eight degrees is, like, I don't know..." 

When he's in the States, it feels strange to try to think about the weather in Celsius — it would be like thinking of his New York apartment as a flat. He glances at Niall, who's always been best at converting these sorts of things. But that's not this Niall, not yet. This Niall is just staring back at him with his lower lip sucked in.

So Harry just shrugs and says, "... it's hot." And then quickly adds, "And I'm not an arsehole, I promise, I just didn't think about how since Jason was still new enough to call me Mr Styles, he wouldn't have told me to just fuck off when I suggested we walk thirty blocks in mid-day Manhattan. I was a little distracted because my other mate had just had another baby and she kept sending me these pictures—" 

The boys are still just staring at him, and so he reminds himself to focus.

"So, right, anyways. By the time I realized walking was a dickish thing to suggest, we'd gone too far for it to be worth turning back. And then this girl runs up to me calling my name. It's probably a small miracle we made it that many blocks before someone recognized me, but—" All this talk of heat is making him feel the chill of the room, and somehow he's only ended up in a short-sleeved polo tonight. He crosses his arms around himself and concludes, "But I think I was wearing a hat?"

Everyone is starting to look even more confused so it's probably good that Liam jumps in with, "And that was the girl, right? The one who told you she could send you back in time?"

"Yeah, I—yeah, that was her," Harry says. And so he tells them about the Traveler.

"Um," Harry says when he's done and still no one has said anything. "Could someone please say something?"

There's another beat of silence and then:

"And you believe this?" Zayn asks, looking at Liam.

Liam nods.

"Why?" he demands.

But, before Liam can answer, Niall asks, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry spreads his arms helplessly. "I mean, I wanted to, all the time. I hate lying and I'm pretty shit at it. But I just—Christ, it's not like it sounds believable, does it?"

"But you told Liam."

"He didn't, though," Liam says, straightening up. "I heard him sing."

"We've all heard him sing," Zayn says.

"He heard me practicing," Harry corrects. "I was trying to get used to my voice again. I mean, this is still my body, yeah? But it felt like I was like trying to sing with someone else's vocal cords. Liam heard me once I'd got more of the hang of it and—"

"He sounded different, like, a lot different," Liam tells the other boys. "It wasn't just that he was hitting notes I knew he couldn't, but also like he had more control or more volume, something — it's hard to describe. Harry, you could just sing something for them and they'll get it."

Liam looks at him expectantly but the last thing he feels like right now is singing for them.

And maybe Liam sees that and takes pity on him, because he says instead, "But there've also been other things you've all had to have noticed, right? He knew all these things about the music industry that we didn't."

"He noticed that they were messing with our sound," Niall says reluctantly.

Harry feels Zayn's dark eyes focus back on him.

"The in-ears. You were weirdly passionate about those."

"And how he was so bent on getting Louis' voice heard," Liam says and Louis looks down at the floor. "I mean, we all knew something was missing when we couldn't hear you, mate. But he knew exactly — like, who knew you'd be aces at leading the choruses?" Harry sees Louis flick a surprised look up at Liam. Liam continues, "You'd never done that when we'd practiced. But Harry knew. And, like, we'd go over the songs each week, and he'd say something like put Niall here, he can pull that line off, or, like, Louis' really good at this part—"

"And he knew it was Elton John week," Niall interrupts. He glares at Harry. "I even asked you. You said it was because they had them before. Did they even have them before?"

"They do the same songs over and over, so probably?" Harry says weakly. Then shakes his head. "Shit, I know that's not the point. I'm sorry. I know I cocked this all up. Please tell me what I can do to make it better?"

No one says anything, though. Louis isn't even making eye contact with him anymore.

Liam gives Harry a sympathetic wince and turns to the other boys to say, "They're going to get us early for the live show day tomorrow. Maybe it's best if we all sleep on it."

 

 

Harry doesn't remember actually going to sleep. But he must have, at some point. Because he remembers watching in the moonlight as Louis returned to the room long after everyone else was asleep. Watched him consider his own bottom bunk until he'd probably realized there were too many pointy objects on it. And then watched him collapse onto the one across the room. Zayn had let out a discontented grunt but apparently hadn't woken up enough to kick Louis off.

And now there's the barest hint of sunlight through their window and there's only one sleeping lump of boy in Zayn's bed.

Harry finds Louis in the kitchen.

He's at one of the worktops doing... well, appears to be writing something on a piece of cloth but Harry can't process that right now. He rubs his eyes and steps in.

"Morning, Lou," Harry says and he can hear the forced cheer in his voice fall flat. Louis shoots him a look and then turns back to whatever he's doing.

"Um," Harry says. "Want a cuppa?"

Louis shakes his head. Harry glances around and decides he'll put the kettle on anyways.

"You didn't really say anything last night," Harry says as he flicks the switch.

"What was I meant t'say?" Louis asks without looking up. "Just learnt me mate's not who he says he is, that's all."

"That's—" Harry starts, then shakes his head. "I tried to tell you. I know I waited too long, but these past few days, especially, I kept trying to find the time to tell you."

Louis finally looks up at him. "You—" And then his eyes widen. "Fucking hell, you did keep trying to talk to me." He lets out a small strangled laugh and says, "I'm a proper twat, aren't I?"

"What? Hey, no, wait," Harry protests. But Louis is already turned away from him again. "You're not, Lou. Why would you say that?"

Louis just shrugs and turns back away from Harry.

"You can stop trying to talk to me," Louis says finally. He pulls a jar from the cupboard. "I get it, all right?"

"You get what?" Harry asks. The kettle dings beside him but he steps towards Louis. "Louis, what — wait, what are you doing with the Nutella?"

He seems to be spreading it on the cloth he was writing on — which is... a pair of underpants? With Wagner's name on it in Louis' handwriting? It looks like too small a size to actually be Wagner's and — wow, that is the last time ever that Harry wants to think about Wagner's pants. There's empty packaging beside the pants on the worktop, which means that, no matter their owner, they're at least _new_.

"Just a stupid teenage thing," Louis says. He grabs the pants and turns to leave. "I'm sure you wouldn't get it, pal."

 

 

When they get to Fountain Studios not too much later that morning, they get routed off to a back office where Naveen is waiting to give them another media training session before their interviews today.

"Now," Naveen is saying. "You could all take a page from Louis here on the use of twitter."

A honk of a laugh escapes from Harry's mouth before he can stop it.

"Yes, Harry?" Naveen raises a dark eyebrow at him. "Something funny about that?"

Harry peeks over at Louis who is — actually looking a little hurt. Fuck. Harry protests, "No, no, it's just."

"Because your last tweet was—" He flicks through his iPad. " _Ripped jeans, skin was showing. Hot night, wind was blowing._ "

"You told me to tweet songs preteens would know."

"I told you not to tweet lyrics from songs your fans _wouldn't_ know," Naveen says. "I never said you needed to continue with the random lyrics. And I'm fairly certain none of your fans would recognize those lines, in any case."

"What? Literally everyone knows—" Harry suddenly realizes that Call Me Maybe must have come out after 2010. "Actually, um, no, you're right. That's. Poetry, maybe? Like, unpublished?"

He knows the other boys are giving him strange looks but Naveen just sighs. "If you don't want help with your twitter account, let's just plan on avoiding cryptic tweets altogether then, how's that?"

Harry slumps down in his chair.

"Don't feel bad, Harry," Naveen continues. "No one expects you to know these things. That's why we're doing these sessions. Now, let me go back to Louis' twitter. You can take it as an example."

And he proceeds to show them Louis' twitter exchange with one of their fans. When she'd said she was having a bad day because her maths teacher hated her, he'd tweeted her back and forth about revisions for her next exam.

"It's good promo for all of you to be seen connecting with your fans. And, if you remember, the key to your success is to get the pre-teen and teenage girls to want you as their boyfriend," Naveen says. "And who wouldn't want a boyfriend who's supportive like Louis is?"

"Just have four younger sisters," Louis dismisses with a shrug. "Ring them every day and I'm used to having to talk them up before exams."

"Well, keep it up," Naveen says. "Every boy band has its roles and— Wait. What did you say? You ring them every day? Truly?"

"Can't always talk for long, but not like the family can make it down every weekend, can they?" Louis says. He glances around at the rest of them after a moment of silence and adds, "Have to use those vouchers from the TalkTalk adverts somehow."

"That's perfect. That's—yes, we can definitely use that," Naveen says, straightening up. "As I was saying, every boy band has its roles." He gestures around at them. "We're just beginning to establish all of yours and a lot of it's based on the perceptions the fans are already making. We had a few of the fan accounts retweet part of your exchange, Louis, and, with that boost, you can see here, six hundred retweets already. And, look, here's a good example, this one says 'I wish my boyfriend was as sweet and fit as Louis'. I don't even think that was one that we planted." He gives it a closer look. "No, that one's original."

"Isn't she going to be in trouble when her boyfriend reads that, then?" Zayn points out from where he's slouched down in his chair.

Liam leans forwards to look at the screen. "This one says 'Too bad Louis has a girlfriend'."

"Aww, and there's a frowny-face," Zayn coos. Louis flicks his ear.

"Why don't you want people knowing Louis broke up with his girlfriend, then?" Liam asks. "I mean, looks like the fans would be happy to hear that." Then he frowns and glances at Louis. "Sorry, mate, didn't mean it to sound like that."

"Actually, that goes to my next point," Naveen says. "We need to be informed about any changes in your personal lives. Especially if it's anything that's going to affect public perception of you. Louis, we've considered it, and we think this is the right time to come out—"

"Wait—what?" Harry exclaims.

Naveen gives him a strange look. "To come out as single." He turns back to Louis. "You've been established as having a pretty girlfriend and plenty of girls have been jealous of her. Now, we can let them think that they have a chance."

"Some of these girls are really young, though," Liam says doubtfully and Louis wrinkles his nose.

"Yeah, they're, like, me sisters' ages."

"Obviously, you're not going to actually date them." Naveen taps his finger on the table. "What did we just talk about? Public perception."

And with that he moves on to their interview talking points for the week.

 

 

Naveen leaves and they're left alone while they wait for their first interview of the day — a gossip blogger, apparently — to come meet them.

Harry pulls out his phone and searches for the lyrics he'd tweeted the day before. There aren't any results. Even his own tweet isn't important enough for Google to index. He can't decide if it will be better to delete it or not, so he just drops the phone back into his satchel and yawns into his hand.

"What was so funny?" Zayn asks. It takes a moment of silence before Harry realizes he's asking him.

"Er, what?" he says.

"You laughed when Naveen said Louis was good at twitter," Zayn says, a challenging tone in his voice.

Harry glances at Louis, who looks away before Harry can meet his eyes.

"Probably just thought it was funny I wasn't completely fucking it up," Louis mutters.

"What?" Harry jerks up. "That's not — why would you even say that?"

Louis shrugs. He still isn't looking at him.

Harry rubs his eyes and sighs.

"Look, okay, in the future," Harry says finally. "You were always getting in trouble for your tweets. Like, getting in a twitter war with someone like The Wanted. And then Liam would jump in and try to back you up. Honestly, our management probably had you locked out of your account more often than not."

Everyone's staring at him now.

"You're saying that Louis—" Liam side-eyes him. "Would get into twitter fights?"

"Yeah, doesn't really seem like him," Niall agrees with a laugh.

"He won't even give anyone anything less than a 'pop' in that fizzle game," Liam argues.

"Oh, yeah, he does do that." Niall laughs. "He even gave a 'pop' to that song, what was it, Louis, with the trombones? That song was brutal." 

"Oi, I wasn't going to just insult someone in public now, was I?" Louis insists, even as Zayn snickers beside him.

"Exactly." Liam looks back at Harry expectantly.

"Look, it was a different situation," Harry says.

"A situation where I'm the arsehole who can't be trusted with his own accounts," Louis mutters.

"No, that's not what I—Lou, you're, like, the best person in the world. Why would you think I don't know that?" He leans forwards, staring at him, willing him to believe him even if he won't look up. "Look, take The Wanted, for example. They were the arseholes. Off twitter, they would say pretty shitty things about us."

"Like a boyband feud?" Liam asks. "Is that a thing?"

"No, about me and Louis because—" Harry realizes that of course they don't understand because there _is_ no him and Louis. He tries not to think about that and says instead, "Well, Max and Zayn were really the ones. They had this whole—" Harry makes a gesture with his hands he intended to mean fight but ends up looking like a lewd gesture, so he snatches his hand down. "Ongoing feud. I mean, Zayn was the one who started it all."

"Thanks for that," Zayn says dryly.

"Wait," Liam says. "Did you say before that _I_ defended Louis? In a twitter fight?"

"Well, yeah. I told you that you were best mates in the future. You know that." 

There's a moment and then he notices that all the other boys are still staring at him. And he realizes everything he just said.

"Um, I probably shouldn't have just said all of that, should I have? I don't really know what the rules are. But the future's going to be different than the one I knew, anyways. I mean, things are already changing."

"You hear that, Payno?" Louis says, kicking him in the leg. "If we're lucky, you and I won't be doomed to be BFFs after all."

 

 

Harry, Zayn and Niall are alone in the wardrobe picking out costumes when Niall brings it up.

"I don't know the right thing to do," Harry says as he sifts through the rack of jackets. "I don't want to mess things up for all of you by taking too much attention. I already have a solo in the group song tomorrow. I mean, you know they're already trying to push me as lead singer."

Harry sighs and looks back at Niall. He's is holding a blue jacket up to his own chest. The color clashes with the trousers he's already chosen. Harry takes it from his hands, puts it onto the rack. He pulls out a dark gray one and holds it up to him.

Harry tilts his head, looking at it for a moment, then nods and lets him take it.

As Niall shrugs into the new jacket, Harry continues pushing through the ones on the rack for one in a color to go with his own trousers.

"I just — I didn't think it was real when the girl asked me," he says. "I mean, who would?"

"Right, time travel? Who would believe that?" Zayn says with a scoff. "Not sure I believe you myself, man."

"Yeah, but, like, if I'd known it was real, I'd have asked a few questions about the rules."

"How do you know there are rules at all?" Niall asks. "Life doesn't have rules."

"Er, yeah, it does," Zayn says. He's standing at one of the mirrors, holding up two ties to the shirt he's got on. "And, anyways, what if he steps on a spider and it ends up starting the apocalypse or something?"

"The spider apocalypse?" Niall says. "I could step on a spider and start the spider apocalypse m'self, you know. Why's it different for him?"

"Haven't you ever watched a movies?"

"Yeah, don't get my lessons for how to live my life from them, though," Niall says.

And the two of them might as well be acting out the arguments he's been having inside his mind for three weeks.

"All she said was eight years, right?" Niall asks, turning back to Harry.

"Yeah." Harry runs his hand over the tweed fabric of one of the jackets on the hangers. "Living these eight years again is the price and the reward."

"Alright, there you go, then," Niall says. "You have to live with whatever choices you make. You want a rule, there's yer rule."

Harry stares back at him.

"We could try the song, I suppose," Harry acquiesces finally. "Give it a run-through and see if it's even worth it."

 

 

Harry gets waylaid by one of the Xtra Factor camera crews, though, before he can meet up with the other boys. Louis is there, though, apparently already been trapped by Konnie. He just gives Harry a shrug.

"I'm not really done with mine," Harry says. His trousers fit well enough, at least don't sag completely down his hips. His polo shirt fits, too, but he still hasn't found a jacket yet, so it's not a final decision. He'd figured that could wait until they figure out the song, though.

"That's fine," she says. "Just need a quick clip."

"Okay." Harry goes to stand next to Louis and looks him up and down. "Why's your hair different again, Lou?"

"Don't know." Louis reaches up to cautiously feel at the sides where they've cut a good deal off. "Not fully sure what happened back there, but I'm not going to have any hair they keep this up."

Harry gives him a small smile. "Looks good, though."

"Yeah?" Louis says.

Harry doesn't think he's seen that exact style on him, but it has that same slant across his forehead that always ends up giving him a kind of coy look.

"Yeah, not bad," he says.

"All right, boys, you ready?" Konnie asks.

Louis' usually the one to jump on these sorts of segments, but he's looking at Harry hesitantly, so Harry decides to go first. He takes a breath and tries to get into jokey-interview mindset.

Harry gestures to Louis' chest. "So, who are you wearing tonight, Mr Tomlinson?"

"I'm wearing..." Louis taps a finger against his lips. "Was this jacket Burberry or Brioni? You know, I can't properly recall."

"Hmm." Harry runs his finger down the frayed seam of the lapel. "Looks more like Gucci to me."

He tugs on the jacket to straighten it and the tie pops out the front. Harry lets out a surprised laugh. "And you've got a half a tie here, too."

"Oi, be careful," Louis says, tucking it back in. "Had to cut that myself."

"Well done, then," Harry says seriously. "A full-length tie might've been excessive." He looks down and adds, "And you've paired it with a nice pair of trousers here."

"Why, thank you."

"I think my favorite part is that the jacket and trousers don't quite match. Gives it an element of spontaneity. Are they different designers?"

"The trousers are Topman," Louis says.

"Ah, Gucci and Topman," Harry says. "A classic pairing." He turns to the camera with a grin. "And, Gucci, if you're watching, we do accept samples if you'd like our endorsements. We'll send our measurements along."

"C'mon, Harold, give us a look at you now."

Harry straightens up as Louis looks him up and down.

"Well, Mr Styles here is indeed showing us the epitome of — what shall we call it? Style?"

Louis fingers the collar of Harry's polo shirt and says, "Nicely fitted polo here. And the color matches his eyes perfectly, wouldn't you say?"

"It's white," Harry points out.

"Aye, matches the whites of your eyes perfectly," Louis says. "Well chosen, Mr Styles."

"That is what I was going for."

"And well-fitted over his manly shoulders," Louis says, running his fingers over the shoulders of the jacket. "Very nicely fitted."

"Yeah?" Harry says.

Louis meets his eyes for a brief moment, then bends down to get a look at his trousers. "And very nicely chosen black trousers. Match the pupils of his eyes perfectly."

Harry tries to hide a smile. But, as Louis starts to stand, Harry quickly covers his crotch with a hand.

Louis quirks an eyebrow at him but doesn't say anything about it.

"Well, very nice," Louis concludes. "Just need to find you a jacket that matches the greens of your eyes and you'll be set."

In a minute or two, the camera crew moves on and Louis looks pointedly at where Harry is still covering his groin.

Harry lifts his hand away gingerly. "I just remember this segment from last time."

"This happened last time?"

Harry nods and says, "Don't really remember a lot of things that well. I mean, not the day to day things. It was eight years ago. But I remember doing this one. First and only time I got to touch your bum on telly."

Louis' eyes widen for a moment and then he points out, "Didn't touch me bum this time."

"Well, last time I touched your bum and then you hit me in the balls." 

Louis bursts out a surprised laugh. "Fair payback, that."

"Normally I would say it was worth it," Harry says with a pout. "But it really hurt."

Louis' smile becomes confused.

"Look, I'm so sorry," Harry blurts out. "I hated lying to you. I hate that I did."

"Well, wasn't exactly a lie, was it?" Louis says, eyes dropping to the floor. "Not like I asked you, are you a time traveler and you said no you weren't."

"I pretended, though—"

"Yeah, I know you did," Louis cuts him off, and then steps back from him. "Let's go find the other lads, heard a rumor we got a song to rehearse."

 

 

Liam stops them before they start the next run-through. 

"Harry. What if you did the beacon on the bay line like 'we've got to get away'."

Harry blinks at him. "What?"

"You know, _We've got to, we've got to, get away_ —"

"You remember that?" Harry asks, staring at him. "You heard me sing that, like, once."

"Why wouldn't I remember?" Liam frowns at him. "It's how I knew you were, you know, not Harry."

"I _am_ Harry," Harry says a little grudgingly.

"But, remember, I heard you singing that. Was about to knock on the door, see if you were up for sharing a practice. And then I heard you, _we've got to get away_ — I'm sure I'm not hitting the right notes there—"

"You're not," Harry admits, still not sure where this is going.

Liam continues, "And that's when I knew something was wrong, because Harry couldn't do that. I definitely can't do it."

"You could if you practiced it," Harry offers. "I mean, I was singing it for a reason. It's one of the hardest songs I have. I've performed it a ton of times now and thank god I didn't do stadiums, like, at the beginning of the tour. Even now I have to put it early in the setlist because it's still hard to consistently hit the notes there. I mean, they're not the highest notes, but they're at the end of a phrase and you have to punch them out loud. I figured if I could make something like that not sound like complete rubbish, then I wouldn't embarrass you guys at the next show."

"What are you two talking about?" Niall demands.

"There isn't time, we'll tell you later," Liam dismisses him. "So do you reckon you could do our line like that—"

"No," Niall insists. His mouth is set in an unamused line. "The secrets stop now."

Liam turns to Niall looking frustrated, but Harry lays a hand on his arm.

"It's called Sign of the Times," Harry explains to the others. "It's, er, one of my songs."

"Yeah, I got that. I want to hear it," Niall says, crossing his arms. "Liam got to hear it, we all get to hear it."

"I—" Harry glances around a little helplessly. The last thing he wants to do is make things worse for himself by saying no, but—

"Don't think this is the time, lad," Louis says to Niall. "We might be at the end again but we still haven't got that much time."

Niall shoots Harry a glare but says, "Fine."

"All right, then—" Liam starts again.

"But you're as angry at him as I am, Louis," Niall mutters under his breath.

"Harry, do you reckon you can—"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I mean, I can try." Harry shakes his head trying to clear his mind. "All right. So, something like this, then?"

He starts his verse as usual but goes up instead of down at the ends of the phrases. He manages to end it on a loud, high belted note and segues into the chorus louder than they practiced. He stops and interjects, "And if you guys want to do this for real, I need to lead the chorus. You can do it just like how we've been practicing and it should harmonize."

He doesn't wait for an answer before he continues with the next line. Then frowns and redoes it, letting his voice crack a little on the 'tonight' at the end.

When he finishes, he takes a deep breath and looks back around at the boys. Everyone's staring at him.

"Fuck," Zayn says.

"It works." Liam nods adamantly. "Really works. Don't know if you meant to change the lyrics around—"

"Yeah, I switched to the last chorus halfway through since I was thinking maybe we can save the emphasis for then," Harry says. "I could still lead the first chorus. Or you could." He winces a bit, apologetically at the other boys. "Sorry, it's not a good song for all of us, really not meant for more than one person. You know that I tried to get Simon to switch it—"

"We all remember that," Zayn cuts in.

"But you'll still do your ad lib with Liam at the end of the first verse," Harry says. "And, like — wait, Liam, how about you do the last line?" He goes through the line in his mind. "Yeah, that'll round it out nicely since you've got the first verse, anyways. And Zayn you could join him at the very end of it. Not, like, an ad lib, just sing it with him and maybe draw it out longer."

Liam's nodding again.

"I mean, if you want to do it that way," Harry says, glancing around at them all again. "We definitely don't have to. The other way is still good. I mean, we're not going to end up in the bottom two tonight either way—"

"Hell yeah we're doing it the new way," Niall says. "No wonder Liam was so angry you were holding out on us."

"I was just trying to do the right thing."

"Harry," Louis cuts in. "We don't have to change it if you don't want to. You said you're sure we won't get cut this week anyways."

"I do want to, though. I mean, I want to do a proper job of it. I do. I suppose if I'm already leading the song, maybe it doesn't matter how I do it." Harry slumps down against the table behind himself. "It's not perfect, anyways. I don't have the kind of control I should have and we haven't had any time to practice it but — I do kind of want to give it my all. Is that okay?"

Louis shakes his head ruefully. "Hazza, you're a star. I mean, obviously you are. You don't need me to tell you that." He takes a deep breath and looks back up at Harry. "But you are a fucking star, mate. You shouldn't pretend to be anything less."

Louis looks oddly sad saying those words, as if with them he's giving up a lot more than a piece of the spotlight. Harry wishes he knew what was going on.

"Making us look good by making yourself worse is rubbish," Niall cuts in, annoyed. "If you're so worried about making it fair, could just teach us to be better instead, you know."

"Yeah, all right. You're right." Harry stands back up straight. "Why don't we run through it together, then."

 

 

"It's really very impressive," Louis Walsh says once they've all made it off their glowing platforms and joined Dermot on the main stage. "You stepped up and made the song your own. And you're continuing to work together just like a boy band needs to in order to succeed."

"I agree with Louis. That was stunning, really," Dannii says over the cheers of the crowd. "You're showing so much improvement every week."

Liam tightens his arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry darts a look at Louis on the other side of the group of boys. He'd gone years of not being allowed to get near Louis on-stage and now after just three weeks being near him again, Harry's already feeling bereft without him at his side.

"Every week you've shown us something new, haven't you?" Cheryl is saying. "Can't wait to see what surprise you'll have for us next week."

"I don't know why you're surprised, Cheryl. There are no surprises here," Simon says. "I always knew these boys had potential. They've shown us that week in and week out. And everything that happened tonight, from the choice of song to what they wore — it was all down to them."

 

 

An hour later, they're back on-stage and Konnie is walking over to them, saying, "Tomorrow night is a real boyband fest. JLS, Westlife and Take That are all going to be here. Are you boys going to be as big as them one day?"

She holds the Xtra Factor microphone out. Harry can see all the other boys just looking at him so he clears his throat. "Hearing the name One Direction alongside those bands would be an amazing dream. But, right now, we just want to focus on the competition. Massive thank you to everyone for listening. If you liked our song, please vote for us again this week."

"I think everyone liked your song, Harry," Konnie says, cheeks dimpling as she smiles. "Seriously, though, where did that come from? Have you been holding out on us?"

If Harry gets accused one more time of holding out on someone, he's going to scream. Or cry. Or something.

But, for now, he just leans back in to the mic and says, "We practiced a lot this week, I think."

"Well, obviously." She laughs as she walks over to the next act. "Keep it up, boys!"

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 6 - [The Way You Look Tonight](https://youtu.be/ZNT7wNwfVU4?t=103)


	8. Chapter 8

Harry curls up tighter in his corner of the empty sofa and looks over at Louis again.

It's not like it bothers Harry. He's not jealous or anything. There hadn't been any seating left by the time Louis had arrived to where they'd all been sorting themselves in the lounge to watch the recorded X Factor performances from earlier in the night.

They're the only group left, but with the five of them and eight other acts — well, seven, since Wagner had gone off to wherever he always goes after the shows — they had barely all fit in the same room, let alone all on the furniture.

And so it's natural that Louis had claimed a seat in someone's lap. He's never needed much of an excuse to do that, anyways.

But Louis had had choices. Harry had had plenty of room in his own lap and a nice corner seat. Louis hadn't needed to spread himself over Zayn's, and Aiden's, and part of Mary's laps. Though, to be fair, Mary keeps trying to shove his feet off.

And Louis hadn't had to stay there when Katie sprinted out of the room in the middle of the flashback clips before her performance and left an empty seat next to Harry.

Or when Cher left after her own performance with a 'fuck you' and rude gesture to on-screen Simon Cowell and left Harry with the whole sofa to himself.

Matt, from where he's sharing a smaller sofa with Rebecca, keeps giving him sympathetic looks. Which means that, one, Harry's sadness isn't exactly hidden and, two, Harry isn't doing a good enough job at all of not staring over at Louis sprawled over three peoples' laps who are not his own.

It's not just that Louis' not over here with him. It's that no one else is, either. Liam is on the floor. Niall's balancing on the armrest next to Zayn.

Harry knows he deserves to be alone right now. He lied to all the boys and he'd be angry, too, if he were in their place. But it's like the final weeks of One Direction all over again. After Zayn had left, after Harry and Louis had broken up, after they'd decided at the last minute that they weren't renewing their contract. They hadn't fit together the way they used to. They were puzzle pieces that were no longer were part of the same puzzle.

But as Harry's thoughts threaten to sink even more morosely, Liam stands up from the seat he'd claimed for himself on the floor. His t-shirt rides up his lean middle as he stretches and then he shoots Harry a rueful look as he sinks into the seat next to him. Harry gives him a small grateful smile in return and scoots closer in next to him.

And then the whooshing X Factor theme starts to play and Harry shifts his gaze from Louis to were the TV's zooming in on the five of them.

 

 

Rebecca-on-TV is singing _Set you on a treadmill and they made you change your name_ as Harry ducks out of the lounge and into the dark kitchen to answer his phone.

"Gems?"

"I'm not saying I believe you," Gemma says without any preamble.

"All right?" He sinks down onto the kitchen floor.

"If I was going to believe you, though," she continues. "Tonight might've been the moment I did."

Harry leans back into the cupboard, letting his head fall back onto it.

"I mean, shit, Hazza, what the hell was that?"

Harry lets out an exhausted little chuckle. He can hear Rebecca singing, _Hollywood created a superstar and fame was the price you paid_.

"So I'm not as horrible a singer as you thought?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Gemma says dryly. "My expectations were quite low."

"Love you, too, Gems," Harry says as cheers erupt from the telly.

 

 

"Buy me a pint?" Harry says.

Mark Feehily turns around at the bar.

"Should work on yer chat-up lines, kid," he says. "Also, I've got a fiance."

Harry just raises his eyebrows at him.

Mark shakes his head. "Simon know?"

"Nothing to know," Harry says. "I've slept with all the women in this room.

"Have you now?"

Harry shrugs. "According to The Sun."

"Well, I don't read The Sun, kid. That's what keeps me sane. And you did try a chat-up line on me." Mark looks amused.

"Nah, I didn't," Harry says, and can't help a small smile. "I'm sixteen. They're strict about that sort of thing here."

Mark laughs. "Fair enough, kid."

As he steps away to talk to the bartender, Harry turns around and leans back against the bar. He looks around the room. It's the after party from the results show. Liam's over with some of the others doing commiserative shots over Aiden's surprise elimination. Well, Matt, Aiden and Paije are doing the shots. Liam is abstaining because he still believes he has only one kidney. 

Niall's in the middle of the room, rosy-cheeked as he downs a pint and banters with the other members of Westlife. 

Robbie Williams is holding court on the other side of the room. Louis and Zayn are watching him both wide-eyed. Something twists in Harry's chest at how adorably starstruck they both look — especially as Zayn's not even a fan. It reminds Harry of their first couple of years, when they were still so awed by every single that made it to the top of the billboards, by every filled arena, by every awards show.

He wants that. Wants to be with them, to see them through it again.

The warm pint of beer pushed into his hand distracts him. He turns back to Mark.

"Cheers," he says. Not that he'd really wanted the beer. But it's better than sulking in a corner by himself. And maybe makes up in a small way — even if Mark doesn't remember it — for how he'd blown Feehily off last time he'd tried to talk to him.

"You going to tell Simon?" Mark asks.

"I—" Harry stops himself. "I don't know."

"Saw you on the show last night. You've got some talent now. So I've got one piece of advice for you and it's to come out before yer contract's signed," Mark says. "I was in the closet for seven years and you'd be surprised how little our fans cared when I finally came out. Have to wonder if all that hiding was worth it, you know."

Harry takes a sip of beer instead of answering. 

The last time he'd seen Feehily was at a party, probably one of Nick's, about four years ago. Mark had talked obliquely around what was by then a rather open secret among their circle of celebrities. He'd pointedly mentioned how freeing it had been to come out and how people might be more supportive than you'd think. Well, just like Mark is doing right now. Either he's the self-appointed ambassador to all young gay singers in the UK or Harry has just managed to look pretty obviously lost — and pretty obviously gay — every time he's run across him.

That first time they'd talked, Harry might have been open to the support if it had come a couple of years earlier. Or had a real conversation with him about it if it had been a couple of years later. But that night, in late 2014, Louis had been supposed to be with him at the party but their management had arranged a last-minute date with Eleanor in Manchester. When Louis had got the call earlier that day, he hadn't even attempted to argue. Just tiredly asked what to wear and when the car would come to pick him up.

Harry looks back at Feehily now. He had always seemed so much older, hair already thinning, wrinkles by his eyes. He'd been one of those people who'd seemed to go straight from teenager to forty years old in one birthday. But right now he's probably only a few years older than Harry's twenty-four years.

"And all of ye have a lot of fans, too, so I hear," Mark is still talking. "Good chance they wouldn't care, either, now."

Harry swirls his glass and watches the beer lap at the sides. After deliberating, he says, "You do remember that Walsh said he wouldn't have signed you if he'd known you were gay, right?"

"That was twelve years ago, though," Mark says, not letting up on his encouraging tone. "There's so much hope for kids like you. Especially ones with yer sort of talent."

Harry gives him a tired look.

"Just look around," Mark continues. "It's a new world out here. Gay marriage is up for a referendum in Ireland. I've got a fiance. It's 2010, y'know."

"It is." Harry's well aware of that fact in particular. He glances back across the room at where Louis is still talking with Robbie. He's smiling and adjusting his newly-cut fringe over his forehead. Without taking his eyes off his bright, beautiful boy, Harry says to Mark, "But Louis Walsh said that just last year."

 

 

Louis had sneaked off with Matt and Aiden to drink to the end of Aiden's X Factor career. Harry's busy pretending he doesn't miss him already as the rest of them are in one of The X Factor's vans on the London motorway.

"Look at this rubbish article," Liam says crossly. The light from his phone screen reflects off the square angles of his face in the darkness. " _Wagner says Cheryl Cole is just a girl from a council estate who got lucky._ Who's he to even talk? He's a sixty year old lion tamer from Brazil."

"Thought that was his friend's lion," Niall says.

Zayn yawns. "Who are you to even care so much?"

"Because she doesn't deserve it. She's beautiful and talented and kind. People don't take her seriously enough," Liam says earnestly.

Harry slumps back in his seat and rubs in the bridge of his nose. A few weeks ago and eight years in the future he'd had to sit through Liam saying almost those exact same words just as earnestly. That, though, had been during a phone call for advice in composing a tweet announcing their recent break-up in a way that wouldn't make anyone think the worse of her.

He'd given Harry the password to his twitter account and made him log in from his hotel room in Toronto and read all the drafts he'd saved.

When Harry had finally chosen his favorite one, Liam had said, 'Oh, yeah, that's the one Louis wrote for me.'

"Look at this article, though," Niall says, startling Harry out of his memories. Apparently Niall has stolen Liam's phone, since he's now scrolling down through it. "X Factor 2010 review: The Ultimate Back-Handed Compliment."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" Zayn says.

Niall reads out, " _Sir Elton John recently blasted The X Factor for failing to produce genuine stars. Yet the talent show seemed to do him a favor this evening by dedicating the night to him. Scouse chanteuse Rebecca Ferguson took a chance on_ —Why do people keep calling her scouse? It's sounds like mouse."

"Because she's from Liverpool," Zayn says. "What does it say?"

"There's no 'scouse' in 'Liverpool'," Niall argues.

"Niall—"

"Fine, all right, Liverpoolian chanteuse Rebecca Ferguson—"

"Liverpudlian," Liam corrects.

"What?" Niall says. "Like a puddle?"

"Look, just—here." Liam snatches his phone back from Niall. " _Scouse chanteuse Rebecca Ferguson took a chance on a jazzy Candle in the Wind and that paid off brilliantly. But it's Cowell's newly formed boyband One Direction who once again in equal parts bedazzles and bewilders us. And not just because of the recent 'technical mishap' scandal that's expanded to a full-on accusations that the supposed reality show was auto-tuning more than just the auditions._

" _We don't even know yet what to make of their shockingly powerful rendition of Something About the Way You Look Tonight. The dramatic weekly improvements in almost every singer in this group are more than just auto-tuning can explain. It makes us wonder whether Simon Cowell was truly giving reprieve to five young men who weren't strong enough to make it past the bootcamp phase on their own, or if he was cherry-picking auditionees to ensure the success of his latest manufactured boyband._ "

Liam takes a second to scroll down. " _Perhaps the Facebook campaign that's trying to sabotage the already dubious integrity of The X Factor by orchestrating massive votes for Wagner would do better to focus their attention on this five-piece._ "

"If only," Zayn mutters.

Liam continues, " _On that note, it is once again Wagner's novelty act that is most deserving of the boot this week, but it's unlikely he'll end up in the bottom two. Katie Waissel's exit is almost too predictable at this stage. We won't even have to be deprived of the weekly suspense of what new haircut she will show up in as, between the Cowell's five-piece, at least one of them has shown up with a new haircut every week. It’s more intriguing to see who’ll join her in the bottom two. Mary Byrne and Paije Richardson look most at risk_..."

"Must've been written before the results show," Liam mutters as he keeps scrolling. "That's pretty much all of it. Except the part at the end where they compare Wagner to marmite. Which is fair, if you ask me."

"Oi, I like marmite," Zayn objects. He wrinkles his nose. "Not so much Wagner, though."

"Agreed," Niall says. Then adds quickly, "To the Wagner part, not the marmite part. Creep me out, the both of them. Dunno what you Brits put in it, but that shit's rank."

Harry glances over at him. "Careful, Ni, you can get away with saying whatever you want about Liverpool around these guys but you're asking for it insulting our national cuisine."

"Oh? Did we finally find a food that Niall doesn't like?" Zayn asks.

"Don't worry. Niall just hasn't discovered hakarl yet."

"What's hakarl?" Niall asks, turning to Harry with wide eyes.

Harry just shrugs innocently. "You'll have to find out."

Niall glares at him but it's Liam who cuts in worriedly with, "Wait, marmite's not actually our national cuisine, is it?"

 

 

Simon has been staring down at them for a long, long moment by the time they hear "What'd I miss?" from the office doors.

Harry glances over to see Sandeep entering through the door the camera crew just left.

"Nothing yet." Simon purses his lips. "I was just about to address our issues with miscommunications with these boys. Perhaps they've simply lost my phone number."

"Actually, you never gave us your number—"

Niall trails off as Simon's eyes turn on him.

"Metaphorically," Simon says. He turns back to Harry. "We are on the same side here, boys. I want nothing more than success for you. If you have suggestions for your performances, I am a reasonable man."

Harry glances over at Sandeep, briefly meets his inscrutable dark eyes, then looks back at Simon. He supposes he should know Simon better than this by now, but he hadn't thought he'd be this antagonized by their performance.

"This has to stop happening." Simon leans forwards. "If you have changes you want to make, talk to me about it _before_ the show starts."

Harry isn't really sure what to say.

"I believe you boys have potential. I've said that before and I'll say it again. You could truly make it. I don't see limitations for you. I have no doubt you could be as big as the Beatles one day." He sweeps his gaze over all of them, but ends up landing on Harry again when he continues. "Do you have any idea how many singers don't make it as far as you are right now? It's not because they can't sing. It's because they're not clever about it. Remember, only the winner gets a recording contract this year. If you want it, you have to not just work hard. But you have to be clever about it. Understood?"

Liam clears his throat and says, "Of course we understand."

 

 

"I don't understand," Louis says.

They're gathered in one of the stairwells, all crowded onto a narrow landing, because it's apparently their usual by now to have covert meetings in the Syco offices back stairs after their Mondays with Simon.

Harry glances over at Louis. He's got on a knit beanie and a gray hoodie on over a Rolling Stones t-shirt. There's a furrow in his brow as he looks at Harry. Rather, at Harry's bag.

"You don't understand what—" Harry glances at his own bag and then realizes that it's the diary in there that he'd shown them this morning that Louis' thinking about. "Oh, yeah, like I told you guys, I thought there was a good chance this was Beatle's week. But I know we did All You Need Is Love last time. People said it sounded like a funeral song."

"A funeral song?" 

"And then we didn't even get a chance at a do-over because they wouldn't let us sing it for The X Factor tour," Harry says. He waves a dismissive hand. "Like, the Beatles have all kinds of copyright things."

"Well, we get a do-over now, then." Harry thinks he sees a flicker of amusement cross Louis' face but Louis looks away too quickly for him to tell for sure.

"Aren't you guys tired of it, though?" Zayn says. "The way Simon keeps telling us to work harder. And, like, now he's trying to dangle being as successful as the Beatles in front of us. What the hell."

"Yeah, it's not really a fair comparison," Harry says.

"Exactly," Liam agrees. "It would be amazing to just get to make music. It's not like anyone's going to be as big as—"

"I mean, it's a completely different context," Harry continues with a shrug. "This is an era of social media. We're not limited to getting play on the radio and the Ed Sullivan show to break into America. It's a lot easier than it was."

"Exactly," Liam says. Then a pause. "Are we having two different conversations?"

"I think Harry's having one where he's defending the Beatles for not being more successful," Louis says.

"I mean," Harry says plaintively. "It's not like we were the only ones to break their records."

"Wait. Are you here trying to say that we're more successful than the Beatles?" Niall says.

"No," Harry says, frowning. "I'm trying to say that it's two entirely different contexts and you can't compare them."

"And if, hypothetically, they weren't different contexts?" Louis prods.

"Then the Beatles didn't debut with a number one album in America," Harry says. He shrugs. "Or have four albums debut at number one. But I guess we're tied on three members having solo number one albums."

There's silence. Harry looks around at the others looking at him all looking stunned.

"I mean," he says, uncomfortably. "Liam and Louis both have singles that have done really well. They just haven't released their albums yet, and, like, all the Beatles have, obviously, so I guess it's an unfair comparison on both sides? But then there are five of us and four of them, so it might be more fair to compare—"

"The fuck?" Niall exclaims.

"What?"

"Did you seriously just say we broke up?"

Harry mentally reviews what he just said. "Yes, I guess I did just say that?"

"You couldn't have mentioned that before?" Niall demands.

"Before when?" They've barely had any time to talk at all the past couple of days.

But Niall plows forwards, "What other secrets are you keeping from us?"

Harry just stares back at him incredulously. "Like, eight years' worth? Because—"

"Because what?"

"Niall—" Louis starts.

"Look, reckon it's time to meet Sandeep, isn't it?" Liam interrupts. Harry shoots him a grateful look but Liam doesn't look that much happier with him than Niall is.

 

 

"It wasn't even that different," Harry protests. Sandeep had begun their vocal session with the announcement that they have to end early so they can re-record their iTunes single.

"Harry, do you honestly think we can release the iTunes single you recorded after what you did on the show?" Sandeep asks.

"I—"

"You have to know by now that Simon doesn't like to be surprised. But if you had just sung like that in the first place, he wouldn't have cared. You know he wants you in particular to shine out there. He would have been thrilled about it!" Sandeep says, looking more frustrated than Harry is used to ever seeing him. "I know you're all working hard and I know you've all been putting in a lot of time in extra practices back at the house. And that's excellent. The other boys have improved a lot." His gaze sweeps over the rest of them. "We always knew, Liam and Zayn, that you were strong singers. And Louis, you have a lot more potential than I imagined."

Harry sees Louis duck his eyes as he adjusts his beanie over his hair.

"Niall, you too," Sandeep is saying. "I know you won't get recognition for it, but the way you backed up Harry on Saturday showed some real skill." He turns back to Harry. "But Harry, I've been working with you for weeks now, and I've seen your auditions and the footage from Judges' Houses. All of us knew you had a lot of potential. But you don't just go from where you were a few weeks ago to what you did on Saturday. I honestly don't understand."

Harry glances around at the boys but none of them are looking particularly helpful. Harry bites his lip. Sandeep comes across as unassuming but he didn't become a hit-maker in the industry without knowing what he was doing. If Liam, with all his vocal training, had noticed just what a difference it was between sixteen year old Harry and twenty-four year old Harry, then of course Sandeep would have.

"I think it was just adrenaline?" Harry tries.

"Adrenaline?" Sandeep repeats skeptically. 

Harry shrugs.

Sandeep apparently decides not to push it because he sighs and says, "All right, boys. We actually had a different song picked out for you this week. But Simon thought this one would be better."

He turns back to the recording booth computer and, from the Beatles YouTube channel, clicks on 'Hello, Goodbye'.

Harry had been trying to remember how the song went ever since Simon announced it earlier, but he'd been too distracted to be able to remember it.

He stares at the computer screen as Paul McCartney starts to sing. His eyes widen and just as he's starting to think this could actually be really fun, Sandeep presses stop and says, "Obviously we'll be updating it for your audience. We have backing instrumentals that are more pop, less psychedelic. And you won't be in those costumes—"

"We don't get to wear the costumes?" Harry blurts out.

"Thank god," Zayn mutters.

Sandeep passes out papers for them with their tabs. "I think you'll like this arrangement. The way the Beatles sung it is more technically difficult than it sounds. Especially if we're adapting it for more than one lead singer. We'll make it smoother and we can play up the yearning part the lyrics."

He turns back to the computer and pulls up a music file. There's a brief pop-sounding guitar intro and then Sandeep starts in with a much smoother, less punchy version of the vocals, closer to a ballad than—

"No," Harry says abruptly. He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until Sandeep's stopped singing and everyone is looking at him. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. God, that was so rude."

"Did you have something to say?" Sandeep asks.

Harry bites his lip. "Yeah. Just, um. No."

There's a moment where they're probably all waiting for him to continue but then Sandeep sighs. "No to what?"

"We don't need it dumbed down," Harry says. He straightens up to stand taller. "We can do better than that."

 

 

"Really, Harry, adrenaline?" Louis whispers as they're walking to the other recording booth to re-do their Elton John single.

"What was I supposed to say?" Harry defends himself. "You guys weren't helping."

"At least steal your excuses from someone better at it than Clark Kent."

Zayn snorts out a laugh.

"Why do you reckon Simon switched the song?" Liam interrupts. "He didn't do it last time."

"It's a challenge," Harry says.

"A challenge?" Liam repeats, as if musing it over. "It might be, I suppose. Sandeep said it was harder than it sounded."

"Didn't seem that bad," Zayn says.

They stop in front of the door to the sound booth. There's the sound tech inside who Harry recognizes from the day they'd discovered that Louis' mic was turned down.

"Don't think Harry means that kind of challenge." Louis looks back at Harry with those blue eyes that have always been able to see through him. "Did you?"

Harry stares down the empty hallway and thinks back to the conversation he'd overheard in these halls. The one he's been avoiding thinking too hard about. He glances at Louis and can't help but wish, for a moment, that he could have Louis from the future here to explain this all. He'd always been so much better at understanding this side of the industry. But Harry's all they've got, and he might not have the savvy but he has a bit of experience. 

So he says what his instincts are telling him. "We're not as compliant as we were last time. We're not as starstruck as he'd like us to be. He knows we're not going to be as easy to control."

"You're the only one who's not the same," Niall points out.

"And what does that have to do with the song?" Zayn asks.

"He's trying to figure out if we're worth investing in anyways," Harry says. "I think it's us he's challenging."

"You boys ready?" The sound tech swings the door open to usher them inside.

"Hey, where's Trevor? Haven't seen him in a while," Zayn asks.

The sound tech looks at him flatly. "Got himself fired, innit? Probably going to get himself sued for a lot more than The Sun paid him for it."

"What?"

"Word of advice, if you're to be an anonymous source, better if you're not sharing information only a few people know," the tech says as he leads them through to the recording room. "Just lucky he didn't bring me down with him."

 

 

"You alright, mate?"

Harry glances up from his phone, about to answer, and then realizes Zayn's question is directed at Louis. Harry watches as Louis collapses down onto one of the sofas across from him.

"Course I am, why?" Louis asks. He picks up a stray book from the table and starts leafing through it.

"You were really quiet just now," Zayn says, leaning against the armrest.

"For the video diary?" Louis glances up at him. "I talked, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but not very much," Zayn says. "You're always coming up with something to liven them up, but today you just let Liam read all the questions."

"Well, it was getting a bit obnoxious, wasn't it? Disrupting everything?"

Harry looks closer at the book in Louis' hands. It has a bright blue cover and Harry can't make out the words, but it looks familiar.

"What?" Zayn exclaims. "No, it's a bit _boring_ not having anyone to liven things up every time we have to answer another question about what celebrity we want to be, or date, or, I dunno, I'm running out of celebrities."

"That's the Ben Elton book, isn't it?" Harry blurts out.

Louis and Zayn both look up at him as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"You were going to bring that book to the stairs today, weren't you?" Harry asks.

"What?"

"You were going to pretend to read from it while we were talking," Harry insists.

Louis' giving him a strange look. "Yeah, I saw it on t'way there and thought about it, but... how the hell did you know that? I barely considered it for five seconds."

"You did that last time," Harry insists. "The fans loved it. _'No, Jimmy protested'_."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's from the book," Harry says. "Just, like, a random line, I think. But you interrupted Liam or something pretending to read it and they'd quote that back to us years later."

Louis' staring at him.

"Are you serious?" Zayn asks. "Why would anyone care about some random line in a book Louis read?"

"Why would anyone make a shrine to my vomit on the 101?" Harry retorts.

They both stare at him.

"It's a freeway in L.A.?" he says. "Everyone thought I was drunk but I was mostly carsick and just a little bit drunk. But they take the drinking age really seriously over there and—"

"Wait, what? Someone made a shrine to your vomit?" Zayn demands incredulously. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Why didn't you do it?" Harry turns to Louis, ignoring the question. "Was it because of me? Did I—"

"No," Louis interrupts. "Not everything's because of you, mate."

Zayn says, "That's a weirdly specific thing about the past to change, though."

"It wasn't nothing Harry did," Louis insists. "Just had a talk with Sandeep today."

"With Sandeep," Harry repeats, feeling a sinking in his chest. "What did he say?"

Louis shrugs. "Just gave me some advice. It's not a big deal."

"Can we talk more about this vomit shrine, though?" Zayn asks.

 

 

The next morning, as Harry's jogging up the stairs to grab a hoodie for the colder-than-usual morning, he hears Louis screech, "Stop, you git! You're making it even worse!"

"Shut up. It's not my fault it's going in ten directions," comes Zayn's protest. When Harry peers across the corner to the bathroom, he sees Zayn with a glob of green hair gel in his palm, looking like he's about to assault Louis with it.

"Zayn, are you... what _are_ you doing with that hair gel?"

Zayn turns and stares at him, hand with the gel still hovering over Louis' head.

Louis stares at him, too.

And it's not until that moment that Harry realizes his interference is maybe not welcome.

"It's not working," Zayn says finally. "Dunno what they did to his hair. Used to be straight and now it's, like, who even knows."

"Zayn just doesn't know what t'fuck he's doing," Louis snipes back. "All he knows is how to give himself a daft quiff."

"Your hair's not cut right for a quiff, Lou," Harry says.

"Wasn't my idea," Louis says. Then clarifies, giving Zayn a dark look. "The haircut _or_ the quiff. Not all of us can have haircuts based on camels."

"His name's _Kamil_ and he's a French supermodel," Zayn says with a disdainful sniff. "And people are asking for my haircut at the barbers now."

"Well, aren't you special."

"I can fix it," Harry blurts out.

The two of them look back at him again.

"Unless you're a hairdresser in the future, dunno if you're qualified, Curly. Think this is going to take more than your signature ruffle and shake," Louis says.

Harry can't help a smile. It's the first time Louis has called him anything other than 'pal' or 'mate' in days.

"I don't think you've had this exact cut before, but close enough," Harry says. "I mean, for anything official the stylists do it. But I sort of am qualified?"

"Have at it, then," Zayn says, stepping back in relief.

"Oi, don't I get a choice?" Louis objects.

"No," Zayn says. He glances down doubtfully at the bright green glob of gel still in his hand and grabs a flannel to wipe it off as he walks out.

"Wait, Zayn, can you bring a blow dryer and your flat iron? And your round brush — the smaller one?" He looks up at Louis' hair again. "And—"

"Mate, me hair's already dry, in case you couldn't tell, and we 'ave about five minutes here," Louis says.

"Right," Harry says. He turns back to Zayn. "Then how about that some gel — not what you've got there, that's not even — how about the one Niall's got? But we could use your wax hairspray."

Louis lets out a put-upon sigh and Zayn arrives a moment later with the requested products. He grumbles something as he disappears down the stairs.

Harry turns back to Louis. It's been three weeks and Harry's still not used to being on eye-level with him. He's having a hard time not getting distracted by the curve of his eyebrows, the cut of his cheekbones, the cheap body spray Harry can smell and that Harry had absolutely loved when he was sixteen, because it smelled like Louis, and still kind of does love it, and still for the same reason.

But, Harry reminds himself, he has a serious job to do. He forces his attention back on Louis' hair. To be fair, it is a bit of a mess. It's soft and kind of fluffy and makes him look like a disgruntled puppy. Which is adorable but also, Harry knows, not what Louis was going for.

Lou Teasdale had dedicated years of her life to getting Louis' hair to go in about five different directions at once, but this is a little much.

"Zayn was right," Harry says. "It is going in about ten different directions."

"Oi," Louis says. "If you're just going to insult it—"

"Not insulting it," Harry says. He bites his lip. He's not actually sure if all Louis' complaints about his hair are him just pretending to be in a stop. Or if he's pretending to be in a strop to hide that it actually bothers him. "Does the haircut really bother you, though?"

Louis deflates. "Nay, suppose not. Just a change."

"Yeah," Harry says. "I know." He reaches up and brushes his fingers through Louis' fringe. "Gonna make it look good for you, Lou. I promise."

Louis looks back at him for a long moment, so close Harry can see the faint outline of his contacts.

"Do your best, then," Louis says, finally.

Harry gives him a small smile. He brushes his fringe gently to the side of his forehead. It's not going to give him too much trouble, it likes to lie that way, anyways, just needs something to hold it in chunks.

It's the sides that are the problem. Louis' left side, in particular, which is cut too short to settle down by itself, but not short enough to just stay where it is.

"You planning to actually do anything or just ogle me?" Louis says.

Harry bites back a smile. He's not deceived. He knows that Louis loves this part, preens at being the sole focus of someone's attention. It never even mattered whether it was Louis accusing Harry — rightly or wrongly — of messing up his hair and dragging him into the toilet to make him fix it, or Lou Teasdale wrestling him into a backstage dressing room.

Harry grabs for Niall's gel. It's not the best, but it's not bright green so it's a step up from Zayn's by definition. He runs it through his fingers, makes them sticky, then reaches up to stroke his fingers through the sides of Louis' hair.

He hasn't been this close to Louis in days. It reminds him of another toilet, a time that seems a lot longer than a few days ago, when Louis had said 'Please tell me you want this' and Harry had kissed him back, recklessly, desperately.

Something inside him twists, makes him wonder if that will ever be in store for them again.

He sprays some of the spray on his fingers.

"Oi, you're supposed to be spraying me hair, not your hands," Louis complains.

"Know what I'm doing," Harry says. He reaches up and forms the sides of his hair into chunks. It's holding better this way, holding down the soft hairs that keep wanting to fly away.

"You said it was three weeks ago, yeah?" Louis says, and his voice is softer this time.

"Three weeks?" Harry repeats. "Oh—you mean. Yeah, three weeks ago."

"It was the day you fell off the bed, wasn't it?"

Harry nods.

"You know, I thought you was concussed or summat," Louis says. "I had one in Year Eleven, so I knew what it was like."

"Nine," Harry says as he strokes his fingers gently through Louis' fringe. "Year nine. Was a footie match. You jumped for a header the same time another guy did. You were passed out for a good minute."

Louis' eyes widen. "I told you that?"

"Your mum did," Harry says. "Terrified her."

"Right. Shit, this is going t'take some getting used to, all these things never would've thought you'd know." Louis casts his eyes down. "Well, that day, anyways, you were acting all confused and quiet. Was just like I remembered being. T'be honest, was plotting how to get you to an A&E to get looked at. But then that night with the autographs. The rest of us, we were all in a bit of a shock but you must've been okay because you were a right pro at it. Took over the whole shop like you'd done it a hundred times." He gives a small self-deprecating laugh. "S'pose you have."

"A lot more than a hundred," Harry says, biting his lip.

"'Course," Louis says. He stares off ahead of himself. "Of course you have."

Harry lets his hands fall from Louis' hair and he says, "Lou, I need to talk to you."

"No you don't," he says.

"What? No, I do," Harry insists, confused. "I don't want to keep any more secrets from you guys but before I tell the boys anything else I need to talk to you first."

"We really don't have t'talk about it, mate. I got it." Louis steps away from him.

"Louis, please—"

But he's already gone.

 

 

"Can't believe they're making us stand on the boxes again," Niall mutters darkly.

"What's the big deal? If we're on the boxes, we don't have to do any choreography."

They're in the back of the gymnasium in central London. They'd met for a whole of five minutes with Brian just to be told that their choreography was going to consist of exactly what it had last week.

Now they have to wait through Matt and Paije's choreography practices so they can go over the group song together. So now they're sitting on the back steps eating takeaway pies from across the road.

"Well, seeing as I'm a bit afraid of heights, I think I'd prefer the fit dancers like Matt has to stupid glowy boxes," Niall snaps.

"The boxes are a foot off the stage," Liam points out. "Not even that, probably."

"More like three feet. And they're also only about a foot wide, and I'm not a big fan of tight spaces, either, mates."

"What aren't you afraid of, then?" Zayn asks.

"Anything that's not a height or a tight space!"

"Oi, lads," Louis throws down his pie on the step next to him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Niall says sullenly.

"Just don't know why we have to wait around just to learn how to mime a song that doesn't even matter," Zayn mutters.

"Well we could at least do something productive than snipe at each other, couldn't we?"

"Like what?" Niall asks.

"I dunno, like, work on the song that _does_ matter?" Louis says.

"We should do that," Liam says, though he's looking a bit shocked that it was Louis who suggested it.

 

 

It's not working.

Harry lets his head fall into his hands after yet another run-through he's had to stop early because it just wasn't worth continuing the way they'd been going.

"Maybe Sandeep was right," he says. "We could tell him we want to do it in a ballad style after all. I'm sure we could do a decent job of it."

"No!" Louis jumps up. "Sandeep's not right. Sandeep's never right."

Harry looks up. Liam has an eyebrow raised at him.

"What?" Zayn says.

"Why is this so hard?" Louis asks, facing all of them like a teacher.

"Because it's a stupid song," Zayn says. "It doesn't work for us at all."

"Wrong!" Louis says, pointing at him. "Anyone else?"

"Because it's such a big jump into those high notes?" Niall says.

"Ri—" Louis starts but then he catches Harry's eyes and Harry shakes his head. "Wrong. That's wrong, Niall. Obviously."

"It's the timing," Liam says.

"Right! Right?" Louis glances at Harry and Harry gives him an amused nod. "Right."

"We have to come in together and stop each phrase together," Harry explains. "Doing it as a ballad would be a lot more forgiving."

"Well, we're not doing it as a ballad," Louis says. "You thought we could do it, then we can do it."

"It's not going to work if we don't work together," Harry says. "And we're not working together."

"No, we're not," Liam says.

"So we need a leader, then," Louis says, crossing his arms. "Someone to mind us, keep us on track."

"And who's that going to be? You?" Zayn asks.

"Nay," Louis scoffs. He spins and points to Liam. "It's Payno here."

Liam raises his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Who else?" Louis says.

"Harry?"

Louis glances over at Harry and Harry gives him a shrug.

Louis shakes his head at Liam. "Nope. No luck, Payno, it's all on you."

Liam glances at Harry then back at Louis. He says, "We'll need to re-arrange the parts."

"Doable." Louis grabs the music sheets from Niall's hand, and Niall barely gets a word of protest in. Louis kneels down next to the step and lays them out. Just as he looks like he's going to write on them with any sort of writing instrument in his hand, Harry pushes a pencil at him. Liam comes over to kneel beside him and join him.

"Here," Liam points to the page. "These are the hardest parts to get timed together, right?"

"So you'll do these lines," Louis says. "Even if t'rest of us are singing, you can still lead, make sure everyone comes in on time."

"Okay," Liam says. Then points to something else. "But this—"

Louis cringes. "Can we just pretend they're not there?"

"They take up a lot of time," Liam says.

"Which makes it all the worse if they're boring," Louis says.

"What if..." Liam says. He grabs the pencil from Louis and taps on the paper. "I know this is supposed to be part of the chorus, but if we pretend it's part of the verse—"

"Then we can just skip them altogether," Louis says.

He grabs the pencil back from Liam and begins scribbling out whole lines.

"It'll be even harder with the timing, though," Liam says.

"Too late, I already crossed them out," Louis says, brandishing the paper.

"We don't even know if we can change the backing music to do that, though," Liam says.

They both look up at Harry. Harry doesn't know exactly what they're talking about, but he says, "If Sandeep agrees, shouldn't be a problem for them to re-edit it."

Louis smoothes the paper back over the step and bows over it again with Liam. "All right, so what about—"

"Yeah," Liam says. "And here, instead of —"

"Aye, if we're going t'do it, let's do it."

"What the fuck is going on?" Niall whispers to Zayn. Zayn shakes his head.

Louis and Liam are still bent furiously over the paper. Harry just keeps watching in fascination as they work through the song. 

When they finally stand back up, Louis shoves the paper at him.

"So?" Louis says impatiently. "What do you think?"

Harry glances at the page, which at this point is little more than a scrawl of crossed out and written-over and underlined lyrics and notes.

"Um, I can't read any of that?" Harry confesses. Then quickly adds, "But I'm sure it's brilliant."

 

 

Harry had come downstairs looking for Louis to try to talk to him. He's seen the way him keeping secrets splintered the group in the last few days and he needs to tell the boys the truth about the future and why he's here. But he can't unless he has Louis' permission. Especially not when he knows that by now Louis has barely accepted that he's not completely straight.

And so he'd followed the loud pitch of Louis' voice towards the living room-turned-interview room. When he peeks inside, he can see Louis and Mary in the glare of a makeshift spotlight and Louis is quizzing Mary about what she misses most about home.

"Oh, thank god!" Katie suddenly appears from where she jumped up from the sofa next to the door.

Pattie, the Modest PA from the video diaries, hushes her. But Katie just rolls her eyes as she walks out of the door.

"Er?" Harry starts, turning around to her.

"I don't have time for this." She flicks her newly brown hair back from her face. "You can do it."

And before he can argue with that, she's gone. He sighs. Maybe he can catch Louis after this at least.

He takes a seat and watches as Louis pulls up another over-sized question card and holds it with the TalkTalk logo plainly visible for the camera.

"Kirsty Sheppard from Aberdeen says, 'What's your worst habit?'"

Mary says something about yawning loudly and Louis goes onto the next question. He's still loud, still bringing energy to the segment that always made him the obvious choice for these things.

But, like in the video diary yesterday, he's not pulling any funny voices, not as over the top, not as _flamboyant_. Last time, he hadn't toned himself down like this until months later. Not until after The X Factor tour was done and they'd all gone through intense media training ahead of What Makes You Beautiful being released.

Mary's telling Louis that her favorite color is red and Harry is biting his lip. He doesn't know for sure what he did to make this change this time, but it's obvious he's made things worse instead of better. His heart aches.

"Last question," Louis says. "Anderson Reid from Edinburgh says, 'Are you single?'"

"I sure as hell am!"

"All right," Louis looks at the camera and waggles his eyebrows. "Just made a lot of men out there very happy."

Mary laughs.

"And your time's up! Let's see how Katie does." Louis turns and his eyes widen slightly when they land on Harry sitting in her place. "You're not Katie."

"Nope," Harry says. "She was too busy, apparently."

"You're the stand-by, then?"

Harry stands up and ruffles his hair into something hopefully resembling a hairstyle while the PA directs him and Mary to change seats. Mary gives Harry an affectionate shoulder squeeze as he passes her and takes a seat on the stool.

Louis is looking him over. His hair is holding the style Harry had given him this morning surprisingly well save for a flyaway chunk of hair to the side.

Without thinking about it, Harry steps over and tucks it back in place.

Louis looks at him, face very close to his and eyes a startling blue in the spotlight. The spotlight is angled just right to put the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw into shadow.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles. "You just had a..."

"Yeah, ta for that," Louis says. And Harry realizes he's still leaning far forwards into Louis' space. He quickly steps backwards to his own stool.

Pattie swaps the set of cards in Louis' hand with another, presumably made for Harry.

"Louis, we need you to reshoot the intro now with Harry's name," she tells him.

Louis nods, straightens up in his seat, and looks directly at his camera.

"Welcome to The X Factor Megamind!" Louis says. "I'm your host, Louis Tomlinson, and we've got some questions from TalkTalk. Head to head we've got two finalists. We've got Mary Byrne and we've got Harry Styles."

Harry gives the second camera his best cheeky smile.

"Right, Curly, your turn..." Louis shuffles through the cards in his hand. 

Harry looks at the camera again, this time with a very serious look, and rubs his hands together.

"First question, this one is from—Um." Louis stops himself with a frown, then tosses the card on the floor. He frowns at the next one and tosses it away as well. Finally, he reads out from the next one, "Emily Powell from Birmingham says, 'Who are you most sad about leaving the competition and why?'"

"Aiden," Harry answers easily. And then adds something about him being a good friend.

When they finally get to the end of the cards, Louis' taken so long with discarding questions before he's even asked them that Harry's answered nowhere near as many as Mary. So it's Mary who comes back to cheer in front of the camera after Louis announces the winner.

The lights of the room flick back on and Harry blinks against the sudden light. When he opens his eyes again, it's to see the other three boys in the doorway, behind the camera crew that's packing up to leave.

Harry sighs in internal frustration that his plot to get Louis alone after this has failed.

"What's all this? Think you threw away more questions than you asked him." Zayn steps around where the camera crew are packing up to leave and bends down to grab a pile of the cards Louis discarded.

"I was sabotaged by my own bandmate," Harry says with a fake pout.

Louis rolls his eyes. He slides off his stool and grabs a bag of crisps from the armful of snacks Niall's brought with him and collapses on the sofa. The door swings closed behind the camera crew, leaving them alone in the room.

"What is the most romantic thing you would do for a girl," Zayn reads off one of the cards. And then another, "Who was your first kiss. What do you look for in a girl. Who is your celebrity crush—Why'd you throw all those out?" Zayn asks. "You made me answer worse than those in the thing we did the other day."

"I'm not going to ask Harry those questions, now, am I?" Louis says, sounding a little irritated as he pops open the bag of crisps. "He doesn't even like girls."

Harry takes a seat on the floor next to the armchair. 

"He's always answered the questions, though," Niall says. "Not like any of us are telling the truth, anyways. They gave us that list of celebrities to say we have crushes on."

He leans over to hand Harry a banana and Harry wonders if it's finally a peace offering from him. 

"Where've you even been the last two weeks? It's hardly the same thing," Louis says, a note of irritation in his voice. "Lad says he's in the closet and then says he's come from eight years in the future. I'm not going t'be the one to make him lie for one more day."

"You're not the one making him lie. Must've had plenty of chances to come out in eight years. Especially since apparently our band broke up," Niall says with not a small amount of resentment in his voice. And, all right, maybe Harry was reading too much into the banana.

He sees Louis opening his mouth, probably to keep defending Harry even though he has no reason to do so. So Harry speaks up instead, "It's not that easy."

He glances at the banana in his hand.

"I mean, I can say 'someone' instead of 'girl' or 'they' instead of 'she'. But when I'm asked what I look for a girl, can't just say that I'm actually not looking for a girl at all." Except maybe that one isn't the best example. He sighs and says, "I mean, I tried to once a few years ago. Was doing an interview with Liam. It was promo for our fourth album and they were asking what four things we looked for in a girl. Liam said 'female' and I was just so over all of it. So I said something, like, 'not that important'."

"Wait, so you did come out?" Zayn asks, leaning forwards on the edge of his seat.

"No. Not exactly," Harry says. "They couldn't stop the interview from airing but they kept it from getting any coverage in the media. Instead they leaked something about me having an orgy in a hotel room and had me papped with supermodel in LA the next week."

"The fuck?" Niall says, sounding taken aback.

"Who's they?" Louis demands, a hardness in his voice like he's about to get up right now and fight them for Harry. It makes Harry feel like his heart is about to crack open.

"Our management," he says quietly. "It wasn't that bad for me. I mean, it sucked, but not... It was my boyfriend they took it out on."

"Boyfriend?" Zayn repeats. The word drops heavily into the silence of the room.

"Yeah," Harry confirms after a second. Because, well, fuck it. He doesn't have to say it was Louis, and he's already gone this far, he might as well finish. "When I did that interview, there were terrible stories about him in the papers the next day and... I mean, of course I knew that they were doing that kind of thing. They were kind of horrible to both of us about being together, but."

He can't bring himself to look at any of them as he continues.

"He'd never told me, you know? He was always trying to protect me. Like he'd never wanted me to know how much worse it was for him. But then that interview and it was so fucking _obvious_ that even I realized what they were doing. And, god." 

He runs his hands up and down his thighs.

"Suddenly, looking back, it was always that obvious. I was just the arsehole who'd never seen it. I mean. He's, like, the best, sweetest person in the world and being with me was _destroying_ him."

"Harry—" comes Liam's soft voice.

"So, I, um. I set him free. That's what you're supposed to do, right? When you love someone? Set them free? And, fuck, I love him _so fucking much_."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut against the sting of tears. He hears a shuffling and then there's the gentle weight of a hand on his shoulders. Harry doesn't have to open his eyes to know who it is.

"Hazza, it's okay, you don't have to do this."

Harry shakes his head and wipes at the wetness gathered at his eyelids. "No, I just — I need to explain."

Because waiting isn't going to make this any easier to say.

"By that time—" Harry starts. "By the end, it had been years and he'd learned to believe all the shitty lies he heard about himself. He'd learned to hate himself. We broke up and then the band broke up, but it was all too late. I mean, I hadn't heard from him in over two years, but I'd see him in pictures and on the telly and even when he's smiling, he just looks — he looks _broken_."

Louis' hand clenches over Harry's shoulder.

"I was an idiot and I was too late and he's the love of my life and I _ruined_ him."

Harry takes a ragged breath and finally opens his eyes again. He can't bring himself to look at where Louis is by his side, but the other boys are all staring at him, wide-eyed and distressed. 

"You want to know why I came back?" Harry says finally, swiping at his eyes. "I think that's why. I didn't think it was real when that girl asked me, but my first thought was that I would have the chance to — to not be too late."

"Wait—he—your boyfriend—" Liam blurts out, mouth dropping open. "He's the one you think you came back for?"

Liam's looking back and forth between him and Louis and, shit, had he said something to Liam? He'd told him more than once that he needed to talk to Louis before telling the other boys. Had he let it slip that Louis was the one he'd come back for?

But Liam doesn't say anything and Harry doesn't get the chance to say anything more, because Matt comes by to get them for yet another segment to film.

 

 

Harry takes a long shower as if he can wash off the high emotions of the day. When he opens the door to their loft bedroom, the other boys are all there in various states of getting ready for bed. Zayn is fiddling around with something on the bedside table. Niall is in bed with his phone. Liam is changing into a t-shirt. Louis is taking his contacts out.

There are four pairs of cautious eyes on him when he steps inside, but no one says anything.

Harry crosses his arms around his bare torso. He's in his pants, which he normally feels comfortable in, but right now he's feeling particularly cold and alone.

"Sorry, guys," he attempts. "I didn't mean to, like." He waves a hand in the air. "Make it seem like everything's so bad in the future."

"It was bad enough that you traveled back in time to fix it," Liam points out. He's known almost since the beginning but Harry wonders if he hadn't thought about the implications of Harry being here until today.

"Apparently we have shit management and our band breaks up and who knows what else," Zayn says. "Like, you make it sound like we're bigger than the Beatles but we still aren't happy."

"No, that's not — Look, we didn't, like, sell our souls or something for fame. Some of it's messed up but a lot of it's still really good for all of us, I promise." He offers a half-hearted smile. "Even for — my boyfriend. A lot of things are really good for him, too."

"It's all right, Hazza," Louis says. He's been quiet all night. But he hasn't really been acting like himself for days so it's hard to tell what that means. But Harry doesn't think he's figured out it's him that Harry had been talking about yet.

When Harry glances over at where he's sitting on his bottom bunk, his face is a mix of emotions, sad and soft and careful. He pushes over the pile of clothes and clutter that accumulated during the day and pats the spot next to him on the bed.

Harry gratefully takes the invitation. And maybe he sits a little closer than he should. But then Louis wraps an arm around his bare shoulders and pulls him in even closer against his warm side.

"Does he know you're here?" Louis asks quietly.

Harry shakes his head and he catches Liam's eyes flick over to them.

"No, well, sort of," Harry says. "He knows part of it. I've been trying to tell him but we've been so busy and — like, how do you even say that? Hi, I've come from the future and, by the way, I fucked everything up for you?"

"Oh, love." Louis tightens his arm around Harry. "I think I know you a little bit — I wasn't there, so, yeah, I know I can't really say — but I don't think it's possible that you're right about a lot of what you said today."

"What?" Harry asks, pulling back to look at him. "But you heard what happened—"

"Yeah, and it's shitty and fucked up and I'm sure we'll all help you to change things for you and him, okay?"

"Course we will," comes Zayn's voice from the opposite bunk.

"But—" Harry says.

"But your boyfriend —" Louis stumbles a little over the word "—I heard everything you said, love. But what I heard was that he must've thought it was worth it."

"Lou—"

"Hazza, he's t'luckiest lad in the world to be loved by you," Louis whispers. He rests his forehead on top of Harry's head and tightens his arm around him. "I think he knew that."


	9. Chapter 9

"So who is it?" Niall asks suddenly, though crunching on a spoonful of Frosties.

"What?" Harry asks. He accepts the bottle of water Liam passes him and doesn't miss the wary look in his eyes.

The five of them had been up early to practice by themselves before their rehearsal time with Sandeep. When Sandeep had texted that he was on the way, they'd decided to take a short break for breakfast.

"You know, the guy? Your boyfriend?" Niall says.

Harry glances around at all of them.

Louis is sitting up on the worktop, heels kicking at the washer where a soapy load of Katie's clothing is swishing around. Zayn is leaning on the wall next to him, watching interestedly as he nibbles on a piece of toast.

"I can't really tell you," Harry says, finally dragging his eyes back to Niall.

"How are we supposed to help you when we don't know, though?" Niall asks. He lets his spoon plop down in his cereal bowl, splashing milk onto the tile floor.

Harry distractedly hands Niall a tea towel. "You want to help me?"

"I told you we would, didn't I?" Louis gives him a gentle smile over his still too-hot-to-drink cup of tea.

Harry nods reluctantly. Louis had said a lot of things last night, kind things, things that, once he realized it was himself Harry had been talking about, he would realize that Harry didn't deserve to hear.

"We were talking about it," Niall says.

"You were?"

" _I_ wasn't," Liam proclaims.

"You and Harry were in the weight room," Niall says. "We didn't _exclude_ you or anything. Why are you two working out all the time these days, anyways?"

Harry exchanges a look with Liam. Harry had just got in the habit of joining him sometimes so they could talk about their songs. It was the only room in the house — including the toilets and bathrooms — where they were guaranteed that none of the other boys would come by to interrupt them talking about their songs.

But Harry doesn't think it's in his best interest right now to point that out how he had been avoiding the others.

"Never mind." Niall turns back to Harry. "We figure it's got to be someone famous. You said that you would see him on TV."

"Unless he was famous just because he was dating you," Zayn interjects.

"That'd be crazy," Niall says. "No way was he that famous."

"What do you think, lad?" Louis retorts. "He said we were bigger than the Beatles. Was Yoko Ono famous?"

"Yoko was an artist in her own right before she ever met John Lennon," Harry points out automatically. "And, like, she's definitely suffered from the reductionist and probably a bit sexist view that—"

"Fuck, was he Yoko Ono?" Niall's empty cereal bowl clatters to the worktop. "Was he the reason we broke up?"

"What? No," Harry protests. He glances at Louis then back at Niall. "God, no. Like, the opposite."

"What's the opposite of Yoko Ono?" Liam asks.

"A pro-war activist who hates art, obviously," Louis says dryly as he takes a sip of his tea. "Sounds like a lovely lad."

Zayn laughs. Liam just looks more puzzled.

"So, he was famous, then?" Niall says.

Harry concedes a nod.

"But this is what I don't get," Zayn says. "Like, he wasn't in the band, so why would your — our? — people put stories in the paper about him?"

"Um." Harry looks around helplessly.

He's saved, however, by Louis. "Fuck, is it Nick Grimshaw?"

"Nick? Why would you even—"

"What, who?" Niall interrupts. "Grimshaw? Like Aiden?"

"No, he's on that Radio One night show," Zayn says.

"The one Harry keeps making the driver tune to when we're out late," Louis says, eyeing Harry more suspiciously now. "And you do keep asking around about how to get in touch with him. Is that why?"

Harry _had_ asked a few of the people they'd run into at the after parties, and a few of the support staff, but he hadn't realized that Louis knew that.

"It's not Nick," Harry says.

The other boys just stare at him.

"It's not Nick," Harry repeats. Nick Grimshaw of the future would be laughing so hard at this conversation. "He's a good friend. I thought he might be able to, I don't know, help. I don't really know anyone in music in 2010."

"Is it Mark Feehily, then?" Louis asks.

"What?" Harry stares at him. "No. Definitely not. Why would you even—"

"You were flirting with him the other night," Louis points out, his voice carefully casual.

"Really?" Niall asks. "Feehily is gay, too."

"Just because he's gay—god, why does everyone always think I'm flirting?" Harry slumps back against the worktop.

"Well, what about—"

"No," Harry interrupts, rubbing a hand over his face. "Stop, just. I don't want to lie to you guys anymore. But if you think about it too much you'll figure it out. And that's not fair to him, okay? I need to tell himself."

That does stop the conversation for the moment, at least.

"Sorry, Hazza," Louis says quietly. "Just thought we might help."

"I know," Harry says. He looks at him beseechingly. "And that means, like, so much. Even if — well. He might not want anyone to know, anyways."

He thinks about Louis at this time in the past, how afraid he'd been of everyone's reactions to their coming out.

"You've been saying you're going to tell him for weeks, though," Liam points out.

"I know." He glances at Louis who is looking back at him quietly. "And I've been trying but not hard enough. Obviously."

"Not really fair you haven't been able to see him all these weeks," Zayn says. "Is he around London? Sure we could figure out a way for you to meet up."

Zayn looks at Louis, who nods. 

"We could keep everyone from noticing you're gone," Louis offers. "Don't think we even 'ave anything planned after practice today."

"I don't need to go anywhere," Harry says. "But thanks, really. I know you're all still upset with me, so." He bites his lip and looks around at these young, wonderful versions of his friends looking back at him.

"Hey, none of that," Louis says, giving Harry's leg an affectionate kick. "You're still our Harold, yeah?"

"Of course I am," Harry says. "And that's still not my name."

Louis gives him a wry smile. "Then we're still your mates, aren't we, _Harold_?"

 

 

Sandeep gives them all a skeptical but unsurprised look when Liam greets him with the news that they'd made some changes.

His expression gets more skeptical when Liam admits that they might need some changes to the backing track.

He raises his eyebrows and suggests they demonstrate it for him before they start talking that far.

It's — well, it's far from perfect.

They've divided themselves into pairs for the verses and assigned all the lines, but it's all still tentative and unpracticed.

And they've made too many changes to be able to use either the original Beatles' song as backup or the more pop-style music they'd been given. Niall's got his guitar and does his best with some strategically placed chords to keep them on track, but he doesn't get the timing quite right.

And so even Harry feels hesitant when he meets Sandeep's eyes after their run-through.

Sandeep looks back and forth between them for a long moment.

"We'll need new choreography," he says finally.

"Wait, what?" Liam says.

"He's saying he likes it," Louis says, knocking against his shoulder.

"And that we don't have to stand on those boxes again," Niall chimes in happily.

"You mean we can do it that way?" Liam asks Sandeep.

"Yes, of course you can." Sandeep says. And then Niall's letting out a whoop and giving him an over-enthusiastic hug. Zayn's laughing and Louis' slinging his arm around Liam's shoulder and they're grinning at each other. And Harry can't keep a smile off his own face watching it all.

"It definitely needs work, but I like to think I know a little bit about making music, boys, and I'm not going to stand in the way of what you just did there," Sandeep tells them, shaking his head. "I don't get it, but I'd almost think you have the impression I _don't_ want you to be rockstars out there."

He waves off their protests as he jumps up and grabs his MacBook from his bag.

"Okay, I do have some suggestions, though," he says, tapping quickly on the touchpad. The beginning of the backing starts to play, he taps again and it stops. He holds out his hand for the print-outs of their latest changes that Louis and Liam had typed up that morning.

As they go through it, verse by verse, it surprises Harry just how much it reminds him of their last few albums, of the times when constructing their songs was down to the last finicky stuff that always took the longest. It usually consisted of Liam and Louis working through the details with their producers while Harry and Niall sat in the back of their Syco studios recording booth messing about until it was time to sing again.

Of course, this time Liam and Louis have more enthusiasm than experience. But Harry has more experience than he ever had. (He still remembers when they'd been working on If I Could Fly and he'd been so frustrated when no one could understand what he'd meant by "it should be more purple"). 

This time, Sandeep makes suggestions along the way, but small things, and seems to really consider their input. It's not until the end that he starts to seem dissatisfied. He makes them sing the last chorus over and over, frowning getting deeper with each rendition.

"It doesn't fit," Sandeep says finally. "The whole song's a lot brighter up until now, and that brightness really works for you guys. But then this very last part — it's an ambiguous ending at best, leaning towards a sad one."

"You're saying we need a stronger ending, then?" Liam asks.

"A happy ending," Louis says.

"But it's not meant to be happy or sad," Harry argues. "I mean, I don't think there's even supposed to _be_ an ending."

"You don't think so?" Sandeep looks at him consideringly.

"It's about duality. And, like, acceptance," Harry says slowly as he thinks. "It's accepting that two opposite things can both be true. Accepting that love might not be requited, or not be requited at the same time. And that means you'll keep missing each other."

"But does accepting the present mean that you can't hope for the future?" Sandeep asks.

"No," Harry allows. "But—"

"Even if you're missing each other in the present, there's still potential for the future, isn't there?" Sandeep raises an eyebrow at him. Sandeep's done this with him before, challenged him just like this, even if he doesn't remember it. "You said you didn't think the song was supposed to have an ending. Maybe the song doesn't have an ending because there's still potential."

"Okay, then..." Harry reconsiders. "Then the way to give the song a happy ending is to say that there is no ending."

Sandeep types on his computer and then turns it around for them to see. "What do you think?"

"What?" Niall laughs as he peers over Harry's shoulder. "All that and you changed two words."

"And a punctuation mark," Louis points out.

"What difference does that even make?" Zayn asks.

"All the difference," Sandeep laughs. He points to the screen. "See? You're going from lamenting that you keep saying goodbye when I say hello, to declaring that you can say goodbye all you want—" He looks around at them. "But I'll just keep saying hello."

 

 

It's past noon when Sandeep leaves them to work with Cher. He leaves them with his USB key with a copy of the rough edit of the backing music — and a bag full of clothing.

"More onesies?" There's a sigh in Liam's voice as he opens the bag.

"One can only hope," Louis says. He pulls out the first white article of clothing and tilts his head at it. His hair isn't done quite as solidly as Harry had styled it yesterday and a few loose strands fall loose over his forehead. "Are these National team polos? A step down from onesies, sure, but I'll take it."

"Wait, isn't there that friendly at Wembley today?" Zayn asks.

 

 

After the match is over, after England's lost to France and been booed off the pitch, after the boys have been filmed meeting Rio Ferdinand and even Niall has appropriately squealed about what a massive fan he is for the cameras, after being filmed eating in the club restaurant, they're ready to head back to the X Factor house.

Their car, however, is not ready for them.

But it doesn't matter, because instead of waiting curbside, they manage to charm their way out onto the empty pitch by way of providing autographs for two of the security guards' daughters.

They're wearing their new England polos which are long-sleeved but still not quite warm enough for the London night. 

But it doesn't matter because they're standing in the middle of the pitch in an empty Wembley stadium. There are rows and rows of stands rising all around them, and the starry night above them and the other boys still have on the happy-disbelieving looks they've had since they'd arrived hours ago and were ushered along with their camera crew to their box seats. 

"Strange how it always looks bigger when it's empty, isn't it?" Harry says. He wraps his arms around himself. "It's not like it's not impressive when it's full. Like, eighty thousand fans in one place. It's still hard to even comprehend."

"And all here to witness England lose," Zayn points out dryly.

"Is that how many people were here today?" Niall asks. "That's mad. It's like a whole city."

"Oh, well, I don't know about today," Harry says. "Did they sell out?"

"What?" Liam turns to him.

"Maybe not eighty thousand anyways," Harry muses. "That would be including the floor seating and obviously the pitch is here. So instead of, like, however many seats, there are just twenty players."

"Twenty players?"

"Yeah," Harry says.

Louis turns, gives him a disbelieving look. "H, there's eleven on each team."

"Oh, yeah. Twenty-two players then."

"You actually forgot how many players are on a side?" Louis demands. "Did you not grow up in England after all? Were you not here just now watching the game with us?"

"Harry," Liam interrupts. "How do you happen to just know the capacity of Wembley? Did we, like, play somewhere like this in the future?"

"We played _here_ ," Harry says. He looks around at the others proudly, because it's nice to share something good about the future after the last couple of days.

"Here," Louis repeats skeptically.

"I told you we were bigger than the Beatles and headlining in a stadium is the part that's hard to believe?"

"You told us the Beatles thing was out of context, though," Liam points out.

"You're saying we played right where we're stood now," Louis says.

Harry laughs as he gestures around them. "Yes, Lou. The B stage was probably right where we're standing."

He remembers that opening night vividly. Jumping, dancing down the walkway between the stages, strobe lights spinning over the crowd, the London night above them. All the tours and all the stadiums and all the awards suddenly became real that night in Wembley stadium surrounded by eighty-thousand cheering fans all there to hear them sing. Hear them sing their own words they'd written.

"Fuck." Zayn says.

"That was right in the middle of our third tour. What a crazy life, yeah?" Harry says.

Harry catches Louis' awed look and he grins up at the sky, lost in the memories of lights.

Before he catches himself, he starts singing the first lines that come to his head from that night,

_I'm sorry if I say, "I need you"_   
_But I don't care, I'm not scared of love_   
_'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker_   
_Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong_   
_That you make me strong_

The echoes of the crowd fall from his ears and Harry looks back down the other boys staring at him in the empty night.

"Sorry. I just — we sang that here." Harry bites his lip. "I haven't thought about that song in a long time."

It always used to make him either smile or cry, or, often enough, both.

"Did you write it?"

He faces Louis, surprised. "Why would you think that?"

"This morning with Sandeep," Louis says. "You looked like you'd done that before."

"I have," Harry says. "With Sandeep even. But, no. That one, er." He rubs his neck feeling abashed. "My boyfriend wrote that one, actually."

"Hold on, your boyfriend writes music?" Niall asks.

"They really let us play in a place like this?" Liam cuts in before Harry has to cover for his slip. "Eighty thousand people?"

"Er, yeah," Harry says. He shakes his head. "We even tricked them into believing we could sell it out, you know."

"And then what? We didn't?" Zayn asks.

"No, we did." Harry can feel a smile growing on his face again as he looks around at the rows and rows of empty stands rising above them. "Three nights in a row."

 

 

Louis sighs and paces away from where he and Harry had been seated together in the practice room.

The room is dark, lit by the moonlight coming in from the window and the light of Harry's laptop, where it's open to their backing music.

Almost as if they'd actually played a stadium that night, both of them had been too wired to sleep. So they'd come down here to work on the verse they're sharing.

Harry traces his eyes down Louis' lean silhouette. His long-sleeved t-shirt clings to the lines of his shoulders, his arms, his narrow waist. His trackies lie low across his hips, curving over his arse and muscle of his thighs. 

Harry had five years of this beautiful boy in his bed. Five years to love, to be loved. To fuck, to be fucked. Five years to memorize every line and curve of his boy's body. But still he's greedy. He wants another five years. Another fifty. Wants so much more than he has any right to.

"It doesn't even make any sense," Louis is saying. "I don't know why we divided the lines like this. You'd be so much better at this part than me. I mean you're—Are you paying any attention to me right now?"

Harry blinks and shakes his head, trying to focus on where Louis' turned to face him again. "Sorry, I—sorry. What were you saying?"

"Never mind," Louis says, looking exasperated but also, for no good reason, sort of fond. "Maybe it's too late. Should get some sleep. I'll talk some sense into you in the morning."

"What—?" Harry starts, standing up. Then, as he realizes that Louis is making for the door, he suddenly remembers that he had promised he would tell Louis the truth tonight, and he's all but out of time.

Louis sighs. "The lines aren't working. I can't do them."

"You can," Harry says. He grabs for Louis' arm. "But it's okay, we can go over the song in the morning. Right now, just — don't go? I need to talk to you."

Louis lets out a long breath and steps away from him. Harry lets his hand fall down. "I told you, H, you really don't. If you want me to apologize, I can, but—"

"Apologize for what?"

Louis rubs a hand over his face. "Last week, I shouldn't have — you know." He says.

"I don't know, though, Lou."

"I shouldn't've kissed you," Louis says quietly. "I'm sorry. I knew you were trying to tell me something and I thought — well, obviously, I was a right idiot. But you don't have to let me down easy or summat. I get it. I mean, you have this boy you're here for who wrote you love songs and —"

"Wait, you think _that's_ what I've been trying to talk to you about?" Harry asks, stunned.

Louis just gives him a tired look.

"Lou, please stay," Harry says. "Just—can we sit down? Please?"

Louis hesitates. But when Harry gives him a pleading look and he sighs and drops down to the floor. Harry sits down next to him, side by side, not quite facing each other.

He tries to gather his thoughts and come up with the right way to start, but it's Louis who speaks.

"Are we even friends in the future?"

"What?"

"You and me," Louis says, fiddling with a stray thread on his trackies. "We'd got on since the beginning, hadn't we? Since the first moment I'd met you in the toilet. I'd never got on with anyone else like with you. We'd even talked about moving in together, didn't we?" He looks away. "But then you said it was me and Payno who were best mates."

"It's not that simple, Lou."

"Is it because I had feelings—"

"I haven't seen you in two years," Harry interrupts.

Louis stills beside him.

"More than two years." Harry takes a deep breath. "I haven't seen you except on TV. We haven't talked or even texted. You sent me a happy birthday tweet once but it was only because our fans wanted you to."

Louis is staring at him, mouth open.

"It isn't that simple," Harry repeats brokenly.

"What are you saying?" Louis asks.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I know this isn't what you want to hear. And I should have told you sooner. Should have told you right away. Every time you smiled at me or hugged me or slept in my bunk with me. I was taking advantage and it was horrible of me. I'd just missed you so much and —" He draws his legs up and hugs his arms around his knees. "At first I didn't believe it was real that I was here. And then I just couldn't find the words, or the time. I mean, like last night, what was I supposed to do, say, 'Hi I'm from the future and I fucked up your life. Sorry about that?' How do you just say that to someone, you know?"

He takes a ragged breath and meets Louis' wide blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Lou. I wasn't good to you and then it was too late."

"Harry."

"I promise I'll make it better this time," Harry entreats. "Everything you went through, I'll do whatever it takes so it doesn't happen again."

"Harry. Are you saying it was me? I was the boyfriend?"

Harry nods sadly.

"It was me." Louis repeats, eyes still wide with shock.

"Always been you," Harry says softly.

 

 

"That's okay, we'll just try it again," Brian says after they'd messed up the choreography for the fifth time. 

They'd been summoned back to the gymnasium today to re-do their choreography and had found not just Brian but Simon and Sandeep waiting for them.

"Maybe it's too much to focus on like this. Instead of the two singers on the verse stepping forwards, what if the rest of you stepped backwards? Let's do an example."

He has Harry and Louis stand in place while the other three boys step backwards.

"All right, then you two, just angle yourselves towards each other. Not all the way, just — there. Good." He nods. "Now, obviously you're singing about an imaginary girl here, but for this part, act like you're singing to each other."

Harry glances past the camera crew filming them to where Simon and Sandeep are talking quietly over to the side. Sandeep's sitting next to Simon on the fake-staircase prop leftover from Cher's practice.

He looks back at Louis to find him already looking back at him. Harry's been waiting all day so far for Louis to lose that disbelieving, wide-eyed look, but it hasn't happened yet.

Brian claps. "All right, boys, let's run it through from the top."

When they're through, Simon comes up to them, clapping, as he angles himself so his words are directed at the camera just as much as at them. "I think everyone is in for a surprise on Saturday. You have a lot of work left to do and less than two days to do it in. If you can pull this off, I have no doubt you can do anything."

He smiles.

"I have some very good news to share with you as well. I can announce today that you've made The X Factor Tour."

 

 

"Lou, I _know_ you can do it," Harry says.

Louis exhales a sigh of frustration and says, "Maybe your Louis can do it. I can't."

When the five of them had returned from the gymnasium, they'd immediately claimed a practice room. With more complicated choreography added onto an already challenging arrangement, they had no time to waste.

"But you're my Louis," Harry says. Then catches himself when Louis meets his eyes. "I mean, you're not _my_ Louis. Not that you belong to me. Or did belong to me. Or would — just —"

Louis is still staring at him when Niall bursts into laughter and says, "Harry, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing." Harry shakes his head and looks back up at Louis. "Look, I know you can do it, and not because I'm from the future. But because you just did."

"What?" Louis demands.

Liam looks up from where he's making notes on his music sheet and shrugs. "Harry's right. You just did it. Actually had it the last two times we ran through it, too. Did you not notice?"

"I..." Louis looks between them, looking lost. "I was a bit distracted. Wasn't really paying attention t'be honest."

Harry can't help a smile at him. "You overthink things, Lou. Why do you think I waited until the last minute to switch mics with you that week?"

Louis' mouth drops open.

"Well, just need to keep you distracted Saturday, then," Niall says easily.

"Fuck," Zayn swears. They all look over to where he's sprawled over one of the bean bag chairs, phone in his hand.

"What?" Liam asks.

Zayn tosses his phone down into his lap. "It's in the news that I'm shagging Rebecca."

"So? They've said that about you and almost every girl in the house by now."

Zayn looks up at them, frown knotting his brow. "Geneva's acting like she actually believes it this time."

"Just tell her it's all lies, then. She should know that by now."

"Yeah, Malik, just a little communication's all you need," Louis says, all of a sudden sounding more like himself again. He jumps onto the bean bag chair next to Zayn and snatches his phone.

"Give that back—"

"Just helping," Louis says as he scrolls up the screen. Then he chokes out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh, poor little Zaynie, what did you do?"

"What?" Niall asks, leaning over from his chair to try to see. "What is it?"

"Give that back," Zayn snaps.

" _its rubbish but dude never said u n i were exclusive_ ," Louis reads out, drawing out the long vowels like Zayn.

Niall cracks up and even Liam bursts out a surprised laugh and asks, "You actually texted her that?"

"Oh, fuck off, all of you," Zayn says, reaching to grab his phone back. "She's not happy about it."

"Sorry, lad, did you expect her to be?" Louis says, stretching his arm away so Zayn can't reach the phone.

"Well, we're just having a bit of fun. We _aren't_ exclusive," Zayn says. He lunges forwards for his phone but fails and tumbles back onto the bean bag chair next to Louis. "What do you want my phone for anyways? Are you going to write her back—"

Louis raises his eyebrows at him. "Was going to fix it for you. But you're serious? Are you hooking up with another girl?"

"No, but I might if I wanted to. What? Stop looking at me like that." He narrows his eyes at Louis. "Don't tell me you've never had a bit of fun."

"Not judging you," Louis says, raising both his hands innocently. "More fun with someone you care about, though, innit?"

Zayn lunges and manages to snatch his phone from Louis' hand this time. "So you've only hooked up with girls you're in a relationship with?"

"Well, yeah," Louis says.

"Really?" Liam blurts out.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. "Why's that so surprising?"

"How many you been with, then?" Zayn interrupts.

Louis opens his mouth but he must suddenly remember that Harry's there because he goes silent and darts Harry a quick look. He turns back to Zayn and says, in a more subdued tone, "Two."

"Shit, you're the oldest of all of us," Zayn says. "You've only had sex two times?"

"Two girls, not two _times_ , you twat." He reaches down and twists Zayn's nipple. Zayn shrieks and tries to hit him away off the bean bag, but Louis just laughs.

Harry can't help but smile over at them.

"'ve only been with one girl," Niall pipes up from where he's been back to idly plucking at the strings of his guitar.

"Yeah, but you're a baby," Zayn says.

"I'm the same age as you," Niall reminds him.

Zayn shrugs.

"How many you been with, then?"

"Dunno," Zayn says.

Liam frowns at him. "How do you not know?"

"Well, I've only gone all the way with two girls," Zayn says. "But, like, I've done some other things."

Harry takes a considering sip from his water bottle, then speaks up, "Sex is whatever you consider it to be, Zayn. Only counting penetrative sex as real is pretty heteronormative, yeah? It invalidates a lot of people's experiences."

He notices everyone's eyes on him.

"What? It's true."

"Lot of big words there, Hazza," Louis says from where he's still cuddled next to Zayn on the bean bag. "Eat a dictionary in t'future, did you?"

"It was delicious," Harry tells him. Then tries, "Word-licious?"

"God, you actually haven't changed, have you?" Louis asks, looking like he's attempting to suppress a smile.

"If you mean that I'm still hilarious?" Harry says. "That hasn't changed, obviously."

"Obviously," Louis says, eyes sparkling back at him.

"Obviously," Harry repeats, smile tugging at his lips.

Zayn cuts in with, "Alright, five then."

"Five?" Liam repeats. "That's a lot."

"How many have you been with, then?" Zayn asks.

Liam flushes and Louis jumps in with, "Don't have to answer that, mate. We're just faffin' about here."

"No, it's just. I haven't," Liam says a little stiffly.

"You're saying you've never — Seriously?" Zayn says.

"Been texting with Danielle, though," Liam says. "You know, the dancer from the other week. But I, um. No." He looks up worriedly. "Do you think she'll think it's weird? Like, if it works out with her and then I don't know what I'm doing?"

Harry can't resist reassuring him with, "I don't think she will, Li."

"We'll coach you through it, don't worry," Louis tells him. "We'll get some of those in-ears for you and—"

"Oh my god," Liam groans, burying his face in his hands.

Niall turns to Harry. "How many guys you been with, then?"

Harry sees Louis jerk his eyes up to him.

"He just told us he was with his boyfriend for years," Liam points out.

"Could've had an open relationship," Zayn says with a shrug.

"No, we didn't," Harry says without taking his eyes off Louis. "Definitely didn't." Then he clears his throat. "And, well, I'm twenty-four, so." He can't bring himself to say he never actually kept count. "When I was sixteen, I'd been with two boys."

"Is that including your — er — your boyfriend?" Louis asks, voice cracking on the word.

Harry nods carefully.

"You'd met him already?" Niall perks up. He looks at the others. "That's going to change our list of potential boyfriends since he's met him by now."

"Thought we promised we weren't going to speculate on that anymore," Zayn says lazily.

"Well, Harry promised to tell him by now, too."

"I did tell him," Harry says quietly.

"Wait, what, you did?" Liam says.

Harry nods, carefully not looking at Louis. Liam looks like he wants to ask more questions. But Harry doesn't want to risk them figuring it out before Louis is ready, so he attempts to distract them.

"You know, when I was nineteen, had an interviewer ask me how many people I'd slept with. As if that was just a normal question to ask a teenager."

"What did you say?" Niall asks curiously.

"After stammering for about five minutes, told them the truth," Harry says with an ironic smile.

"And the truth was...?" Louis asks, swallowing.

Harry gives him an affectionate eye roll. "Still two, obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats faintly.

"But apparently me sleeping with four hundred women a year was more believable."

"Four _hundred_?" Zayn repeats.

"A year," Harry confirms.

He's stopped from having to elaborate on that by Cheryl Cole and Katie Waissel banging down the door for an impromptu late practice. Cheryl touches Liam's shoulder as they pass them and Liam cheeks are tinged-pink for about an entire hour afterwards.

 

 

At sound check, it takes three tries before they get the vocals right. Another two to get the choreography right. And then another five to get the vocals and choreography right both at the same time.

Sandeep and Brian coach them through it, both giving them more attention than Harry thinks they'd ever received before in this competition. And Wagner was scheduled for sound check after them and he hasn't shown up yet, so they aren't rushed for time. Through it all, Simon watches thoughtfully and doesn't even seem to get impatient. 

At the end, all he tells them is, "No surprises tomorrow night, boys. Are we in agreement?"

"No surprises, got it," Louis says, with a sharp nod.

"Yeah, don't think we can handle any more than what we've got here anyways," Zayn says when he finishes chugging his bottle of water. "Can barely handle this."

"But we can handle this," Liam assures Simon quickly.

"Go on, then," Simon says, with what almost seems to pass for an affectionate smile. "Think you've got some fans waiting for you."

And then they're passing out t-shirts to the fans gathered at the security line outside Fountain Studios. They'd picked out the design weeks earlier, before Harry had come back: black fabric with a large glittery '1' surrounded by all their signatures.

"You know, these do seem familiar," Harry says, lifting up one of the t-shirts from the new box they've just opened. The fans are screaming off to the side where Louis and Zayn are still standing. "I remember getting a t-shirt with my signature already on it at a signing. Thought it was a bit strange."

"What did you do?" Niall asks as he stands back up, new stack of t-shirts in his arms.

Harry shrugs. "Signed it again. Not the weirdest thing I've had to sign."

"Really? What was the weirdest?" Liam asks, eyes brightening in interest as he hands Harry his own new stack of t-shirts.

"Hurry it up, boys!" One of their PA's calls to them from the side.

"Right," Liam says. He hefts his own stack and they both head back to the security line and screaming fans.

 

 

"Fuck, it's cold," Zayn complains that night as they're waiting for their X Factor car to pick them up. He rubs his hands together and blows on them. "Do we really have to wait for the car? The Underground's right there."

"I say we take it," Louis says. He's got a beanie on and his hands wrapped in the sleeves of his hoodie. He's standing next to Harry — not quite together, definitely not cuddled together the way they might have been, god, just a week ago. But Harry still feels the absence at his side when Louis steps away to head to the station.

"But they said the car's on the way," Liam says, holding up his phone. "You two were the ones who wanted to stay for food instead of going back to the house, anyways."

Louis shakes his head mournfully. "There was a wee little Irish lad said he couldn't wait that long, might've starved."

Niall's laughing. Harry ducks his face to hide the way he can't help smiling at pretty much anything Louis does.

"It's not that cold, anyways," Liam says.

Harry tightens the scarf around his neck. It's a skinny one, one of Louis', but at least Louis hadn't seemed to mind when he'd seen him in it this morning. Liam's probably right but the lighter-than-rain-heavier-than-fog thing on the London roads is not making it any warmer.

"Says the actual human heater 'ere," Louis retorts. "Do your abs keep you warm? Are they actual heating grills? Is that how it works?"

Harry buries a laugh in his scarf.

"Look," Liam says, holding up his phone. "Just got another text. They'll be here in five minutes."

Zayn groans.

"It's going to get colder," Harry says, just now remembering.

"Yeah, it'll probably drop another five degrees before Liam's car even gets here," Zayn says. "Kind of hate London."

"No, I mean, this year," Harry says. "There was lots of snow. I remember that."

"Yeah? Well, that'll be your test, then, Hazza," Louis proclaims, mouth lifting in a wry smile. "If there isn't two feet of snow in London by next week, we'll know you're a dirty time-traveling liar."

 

 

"Is it three hundred and sixty-five divided by four hundred or four hundred divided by three hundred and sixty-five?" Niall asks.

Harry peers over at Niall to see the calculator app open on his phone.

They're both spread out over a sofa in one of the Fountain Studios back offices the next day, waiting for the others to get back before they head to their next interview.

"Depends what you're calculating, I'd suppose," Harry says lazily.

"Trying to figure out how many girls you need to shag every day," Niall says. Then interrupts himself. "Wait, how often would you say you have orgies? And how many girls at each orgy? Just on average. We need to take that into account."

"What?" Harry half-laughs, then realizes what Niall's doing. "Oh my god, you're — you did this in the future, too."

"I did?" Niall asks, perking up. "What was the conclusion?"

"That I'd need a Viagra prescription," Harry says dryly.

Niall bursts out laughing.

"Bulk box of condoms too?" he says.

Harry grins back at him. "That's a given, yeah."

There's a long moment of silence, then. But it's companionable silence, not the stroppy silence that's greeted Harry over the past week. Sometime in the last couple of days Niall seems to have forgotten his resentment over Harry lying to them and Harry isn't going to question that.

It's Niall who speaks again. "It's like Gift of the Magi, isn't it?"

"What?" Harry asks.

"So there's this couple and they want to get each other Christmas gifts but they're too poor. So what they do is — wait, I think The Script's new music video's based off it, I can show you—"

"I've been to primary, Ni. I've heard the story," Harry assures him.

"Well, anyways." Niall settles back down. "I was thinking, you and your boyfriend, it's kind of like that, isn't it?"

"Like what?"

"Well," Niall says. "The one half's your boyfriend going through all that so you could be together. And the other half is you leaving him so he wouldn't have to go through that anymore."

"What?" Harry asks with a strangled voice.

Niall chews on his lip with crooked teeth.

"I don't know how you coming back in time fits into it, though."

 

 

"Ta-da!" Harry holds up the juggling balls with a flourish. Konnie giggles at him from beside the camerawoman.

"You are a talented one there," she says. "When did you learn to juggle?"

"Figured I should have a backup career," Harry says.

"Well, hopefully you won't need one, but I think you're set if you do. Cheers for filming this right before you're on, Harry." Konnie pats him on the arm and continues on her way with the camera crew. She calls out behind her, "Good luck tonight, boys."

Harry's briefly puzzled since he was sure he was the only boy in this particular hallway. But then he turns around to see Louis standing there, leaning against the wall.

He's looking at Harry with soft eyes. His hair's been done up by the stylists already so it's less disarrayed and more artfully tussled, fringe touching down over the side of his cheekbone. Harry doesn't honestly know if the look he's giving Harry is intentionally seductive or just Louis himself.

Harry's never been good at telling the difference.

"Hi," Harry says, feeling strangely shy.

"Hi," Louis replies.

"Did you want to practice some more?" Harry asks, because he's not sure why he's there.

Louis shakes his head with a bit of a laugh. "I think if I practice any more right now I'm not going to have a voice left for the show."

Harry grabs at his arm in concern. "You're feeling hoarse? I think we have some time still. Can get you tea from that breakroom. Someone must have a steamer somewhere around here, too—"

"Hazza, relax," Louis says, laughing a little as he covers Harry's hand on his arm. "I was joking. I'm fine."

"Oh," Harry says.

"Are you all right?" he asks, peering at him.

"Of course," Harry says, even though he's still feeling a bit shattered after what Niall said that morning. He considers Louis. "Are _you_?"

Louis laughs. "Just said I was fine, yeah? Are we going t'go round and round on this all night, then?"

"Eventually we should go on-stage," Harry says.

Louis nods. He still has a bit of sparkle in his eye but he's quiet. He reaches up to carefully adjust the gelled fringe over his forehead. It's a movement Harry's seen him make a thousand times and Harry's heart aches at it.

"I —" Louis hesitates, looking down at what turns out to be a copy of the Sun in his hand. Harry hadn't noticed him holding it. "Don't even know where I got this, t'be honest. Just — will you read it?"

Harry narrows his eyes at it as he takes the paper from him. It's obvious which article Louis is talking about by the headline "X Factor Ex-Girlfriend Tells All".

He holds the paper closer.

... _Louis Tomlinson from the hot new boyband on The X Factor_ ...

... _His ex-girlfriend Heather Walker, 18, is quick to assure everyone that their recent break-up was mutual and there are no hard feelings. "We just grew apart. We realized we wanted different things. But he's the best boyfriend. He's going to make some girl very happy someday."_ ...

... _There are already rumors of Louis Tomlinson linking Louis to more than one of their fans. Fan Kirsten Dotten, 16, tells us, "He was really flirty with all of us, but in a sweet way, not even cheeky about it. There was one girl he was seemed interested in in particular. I saw them exchange numbers. Of course all of us wanted to be her then!"_ ...

... _An unnamed source from his hometown of Doncaster warns us not to believe the rumors, though. "He's the romantic type. Flowers, chocolates, the whole thing. He's not the type to look for something that's going to be over in one night."_ ...

Louis' hovering at his side, concern in his eyes.

"It's not true," he says when Harry finishes the article.

"I know that."

"I didn't give any of those girls my number."

"I know."

"And that doesn't even sound like something Heather would say," Louis says. He hesitates, then adds, not meeting Harry's eyes, "I mean, I told her we needed to break up because I liked a boy."

Harry had _known_ that, but, still — he clears his throat. "They probably changed her words around. Or just made it up completely."

"And, well, I don't think I've ever even given anyone chocolates in my life. Even me mum." Louis slouches back against the wall. "Look, I know they've said things about you and Zayn. And Liam that one time, but —"

"This is the first time it's been about you. It's different," Harry says. 

"I suppose," Louis says. He glances down at his hands then back at Harry. "I know I'm being a proper twat about this. You told us the sort of things that they'd write about you and him — me?" He looks to Harry for verification, as if he still doesn't believe it. "Even now, the way they say you and Cher have each slept with about everyone of the opposite gender in the house. And messing things up for Zayn saying he's with other girls when everyone knows he's with Geneva. Even if he is being a bit of a knob about it."

"You're still allowed to be upset, Lou. I traveled back in time to try to spare you this," Harry says. He laughs a little, self-deprecatingly. "I've done a shit job of it, so far, haven't I?"

Louis' eyes widen and says quickly, "No, Hazza, no, that's not why I showed you. Fuck, it's not your job to — No. I know this is part of it all. I only wanted —" He takes a deep breath and meets Harry's eyes. "I wanted you to know it's not true. I needed to make sure you believed me."

God, Harry aches to reach out, touch him, but makes himself resist. 

But he can at least reassure him, "Lou, of course I do. I knew even before you even said it wasn't. But you know that, even if it was true, that would be okay, yeah?"

"What?"

"I mean, maybe not wise," Harry continues. "Maybe be more discreet. You could ask Niall for tips on that." He frowns. "Future Niall, though, not this one. You and me, we were shit at being discreet. In the beginning, until they — but, never mind, what I mean is, you wouldn't have done anything wrong if it was true. I don't, like — we're not." He exhales. "You don't _owe_ me anything."

Louis' eyes are wide, lips parted like he wants to say something. But he doesn't.

So Harry continues, "There are things I need to tell you still. There are things that are different this time." He holds the newspaper up. "Like, this didn't happen eight years ago."

"Maybe you just don't remember," Louis says. "Just one more made-up article about us, innit?"

"But you hadn't even broken up with Heather yet last time," Harry says. Then laughs a little. "And I definitely would have remembered this anyways. I was a jealous little shit at sixteen, Lou."

Before Louis can do anything but stare back at him, there's a "Vas happenin'?" called out from down the hallway. And Zayn arrives with a newly touched up quiff and the message that they're ready for them backstage.

 

 

They line up on-stage while the televised portion of the live show cuts to adverts. 

Stylists run to the judges table to touch up Simon's make-up and fluff Cheryl's hair. Dannii looks down at her notes and Louis Walsh turns around says something to the audience behind him that makes them laugh.

Harry can't help but look over to Louis. They're on opposite ends at the beginning of the choreography since their verse is the last one.

He's the same young Louis he remembers, the same boy he fell in love with. But at the same time, in just a few weeks, he's different, too. 

Part of it is just on the surface. The way they've made him over with the new hair-cut and fitted shirt makes him look more like look more of the Louis of a year or even two from now.

But it's also in the way he's holding himself. He's nervous, yeah. Harry can see him fiddling with his hands at his sides, the bashful set of his shoulders. But he's still focused on the audience in front of him, easy smile on his face as they yell questions and encouragement to him and he calls back to them.

Flashback segments start to play on the giant monitors overhead. There's one of Louis from Wembley, talking about what a massive fan he is.

Harry knows he's changed things for Louis. And he doesn't know if it's good or bad. He doesn't know if Louis being more prominent is going to protect him or just accelerate the timeline for all the bad things.

And there's a deep, dark voice inside his mind that's starting to question — well, a lot of things.

Just as Harry's chest starts to tighten, Louis turns away from the crowd and catches his eye.

His lips curve into a cautious smile. God, Harry can't help but smile back. Louis' eyes crinkle and he's bright, sparkling in strobe lights playing over the stage.

And then the clips are over, and Harry hears their whooshing X Factor introduction, Dermot's voice, and then the countdown starts to beat through their in-ears. 

Harry looks from Louis to the other boys. The five of them give each other nervous but steadying looks before they turn and face the crowd all together.

 

 

They end the performance with the punch of their last line, matching cheeky grins, and a bow to the roaring crowd.

 _You say goodbye_ /  
 _but I say hello_

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 7 - [All You Need Is Love](https://youtu.be/o8OFtJMoeU8?t=98)


	10. Chapter 10

"Two songs, two eliminations," Simon announces.

They're gathered in Simon's Syco office for their weekly Monday meeting. They're surrounded as usual by the stark white and gray lines of his office. A camera crew hovering over them from one side, the giant painting of Simon Cowell's face hovering over them from the other.

And Simon Cowell himself sitting across from them, hands steepled under his chin as he looks around at them.

"This is going to be a tough week, boys. But I have no doubt you'll prove yourselves capable. I've always known you had potential and you've shown us you're willing to work hard." 

Harry shifts in his seat on the sofa between Louis and Liam. He'd been surprised when Louis had plopped down on the sofa next to him and bumped his shoulder into his affectionately. But Louis has been getting less stiff and stilted around him every day.

"The theme for this week is Rock," Simon says.

"Rock," Niall repeats, glancing not-subtly-at-all in Harry's direction. The five of them had gone over the songs Harry had remembered from last time and now that there are only three shows left in the competition, this week was down to Rock or Disco.

"What are our songs going to be?" Liam asks. Harry knows that the boys have all seen Summer of '69 and You Are So Beautiful to Me scrawled down in his diary.

"I think it's time I gave you some independence," Simon says. He leans back in his white armchair.

"Independence?" Louis asks.

"We're tired of listening to complaints that we aren't letting you choose the songs you want to sing," Simon says, with a put-upon look at the cameras.

Harry sees the other boys glance around at each other from either side of himself. But Harry remembers this now from last time.

"All right, what about—" Niall starts.

"How long do we have to decide?" Harry interrupts him before he mentions the songs Harry had written down.

"You have until tomorrow to choose," Simon tells them.

Once he's waved the cameras out of the room, Simon turns back to them.

"Busy day today, boys. Sandeep will be meeting with you shortly to go over ideas. I've also arranged for Naveen from PR to come by and help prep you for interviews this week," Simon says.

"What interviews?" Louis asks.

So far it's just been just autograph signings during the week. The formal interviews are on the weekends when they're at Fountain Studios before the shows.

"There aren't many acts left, boys, and you're getting more and more attention every week," Simon says. He's giving them a satisfied look. "If you continue to be clever about it, I have no doubt I'll see you at the end, standing on the stage when One Direction is announced as the winner. In fact, speaking of acts who are clever about things, Justin Bieber is going to be by this Sunday."

"Hey, Payno, it's your idol," Louis says as he reaches around Harry's back to tug at his hair.

"He's not my idol," Liam mutters, shoving Louis' hand away.

"Why'd you get his haircut, then?" Louis teases. Instead of pulling his hand back, he's let it fall down onto Harry's shoulder. Simon has a disapproving look on his face and Harry stiffens automatically.

But when he follows his sharp gaze, it's not focused on where Louis' light grip on his shoulder, but on Liam.

"I wouldn't be so ready to dismiss that if I were you," Simon says.

"I'm not, I didn't mean—" Liam's eyes are wide with the panic at having got something wrong. 

"In fact," Simon continues. "I would court any and all comparisons with Justin Bieber. He's barely older than Harry here and he's a world-wide phenomenon in the same demographic you boys are after. You could learn a thing or two, perhaps, from studying him."

"That's not true."

Simon narrows his eyes at Harry.

"He's actually one month younger than me," Harry corrects him with the confidence of someone who has spent eight years being compared to the boy.

 

 

_... Beatles week had been looking to be quite the disappointment. Even Cher left her distinctive edginess behind for a bland take on 'Imagine'. Decorator Matt Cardle relied too much on his saucy backup dancers and didn't bring any of the vocals he's shown us in past weeks. Even our favourite scouse singer's soulful attempt at 'Yesterday' fell flat._

_Just as we were about to draft a letter of complaint to Simon Cowell for wasting fourteen million viewers' Saturday night, his own five-piece took the stage._

_Maybe not everyone will be happy with the way his fledgling boyband turned the Beatles' psychedelic meditation into a teen pop anthem, but no one can deny that the catchy energy saved the night..._

Harry hands Liam his phone back with a smile. Honestly, they probably shouldn't have attempted such a difficult arrangement. Zayn had had been off time twice. Louis had run out of breath and hadn't had the force he needed for the end of his solo line. Liam had kept them on time but hadn't projected confidently enough to lead the choruses. And there had been a few moments where the choreography had been truly touch-and-go.

But Liam had covered for Zayn entering the choruses a half-beat off. Harry had jumped in with his part with more power to cover up the way Louis had cut off early. And as group together they were powerful enough that it hadn't been obvious the choruses were missing Liam's lead.

There was no one to save the choreography, but Louis Walsh's snippy comments about that had been overwhelmed by the fact that everyone could see that they had undeniably _smashed_ their song.

"And then here's the one about the results tonight, look," Liam says. He passes his phone to Harry again.

_... The seventh series of The X Factor is now down to seven acts as Paije Richardson lost the showdown to Cher last night. We only have two more weekends before the final, so we can expect things to only grow more tense from here..._

_... As far as our predictions for the winner. Well, Cowell's five-piece are now neck-and-neck with Matt Cardle for bookies' favorite to win this year ..._

"Do you think we could actually win this?" Liam asks.

Harry glances at Niall who's watching them interestedly as he pops open his bag of crisps.

"Depends if it's fixed or not, Li," Harry says.

"How will we find out, then?" Liam asks.

"By whether we win or not," Niall says, popping a crisp in his mouth. "If we win, it's not fixed. If we lose, it is."

"That simple?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

Niall nods sagely and then stuffs another crisp into his mouth.

 

 

It turns out that the media training is less about their own popularity and more about the growing likelihood of them having to answer questions about the scandals currently in the papers. 'Microphone-gate' and the autotuning debate still haven't died down and now there are stories this week about how the judges' are fed up with contestants demanding to choose their own songs. The former stories are still about damage control, the latter story is undoubtedly planted to drum up attention, and their talking points — including how they're supposed to mention Justin Bieber at any opportunity — are all summed up neatly in the PowerPoint Naveen has projected onto the conference room wall.

Harry has far too many memories of this conference room and the PowerPoints within it and so he pays as little attention as he can manage. He's a little bit distracted, anyways, by the way Louis keeps looking over at him from under his eyelashes.

Niall's falling asleep in his chair and Zayn's failing to be subtle about how he's texting under the table. But Liam's here and hasn't taken his eyes off Naveen's presentation once — is in fact looking like he's itching to take actual physical notes — so they're in good hands.

 

 

"When do they let me chop this off? Please tell me it's soon?" Liam asks Harry, looking into the Syco gents' room mirror with a peeved wrinkle of his nose. Then he pulls back, suddenly looking aghast at himself. "I sound like Louis right now, don't I? Getting dramatic about a haircut."

"You wouldn't believe the drama this group gets up to when it comes to hair," Harry says, and can't help grinning back at him. "This is nothing."

On that note, Harry wets his hands from the tap and runs them through his own hair, ruffling up the mess of curls.

Liam eyes him suspiciously for a second and then sighs. "Is Simon actually angry about us wanting to change songs? That was weeks ago."

"No, this whole thing happened last time," Harry says. He isn't sure how he'd forgotten. He'd been so chuffed at the time at having the first song he'd blurted out — Summer of '69, which he'd sung with his old band — get Simon's smile and nod of approval.

"Should we pick the same ones, then?" Liam asks. He and Harry had been talking just that morning while Liam did his morning run on the treadmill and Harry played around with the weights. "I know you said You are So Beautiful to Me didn't go over so well, but you had some ideas to change it, we could probably do it better this time."

"We could definitely do it better this time," Harry says. 

Seeing their reflections in the mirror talking to each other is still mystifying even after over a month here. Enough has probably already been said about Liam's Bieber-style haircut today. Harry's own reflection still has those improbably wide green eyes. It's like looking into a living eight year old photograph.

"But we might do even better with another song," Harry says, dragging his eyes away from their reflections. "Summer of '69 was good, though. People liked that one."

 

 

Sandeep suggests one energetic song and one emotional song, which is about what they had last time. He seems pleased with Harry's suggestion of 'Summer of '69' as the faster-paced one. But even as he's nodding his acceptance, Harry finds himself blurting out, "Or something more rock."

"I thought Summer of '69 was good," Liam says, sounding confused.

"Yeah," Harry starts. "But—"

"But more rock?" Sandeep picks up the conversation. "What are you thinking, then, Harry?"

Since rock is kind of Harry's genre, what he's thinking ends up being a list nineteen-songs long. As usual, Harry's taste isn't always in exact keeping with the preteen girls of the U.K., so it's not long before they're down to three songs. And then two when Sandeep points at their first one and says, "Might be too sexual for you boys."

"But we've had sex," Zayn protests from where he's slouched against the recording booth table. "Well, some of us have."

"Really, Malik? Been proper 'shook all night long', have you?" Louis asks. Harry can't help a laugh and covers his mouth. Louis looks over but instead of immediately sobering on meeting his gaze as he had all last week, his eyes crinkle back at him from across the narrow booth.

"Shut up," Zayn mumbles. Niall laughs.

"This isn't about what you have or have not done—" Sandeep holds up his hand quickly. "—and I really don't want to know what that might be either way." Niall bursts out laughing again. "It's about your preteen fans. And their parents who are footing the phone bill when they call in to vote for you. You don't want sexual, you want fun."

"I Love Rock 'n Roll, then," Liam says, pointing at one of the two remaining songs.

"Sure, let's listen again," Sandeep says, and loads the Joan Jett performance on YouTube. As it plays, Harry stares at the wall and tries to picture them singing it.

"What do you think, boys?" Sandeep says when it ends. Harry's about to say that it doesn't seem to quite fit them, not 2010 them. But then Sandeep adds, "Wouldn't be too hard to make an arrangement for you guys. We'd change the pronouns back to the original lyrics from the Arrows."

"Why?" Louis asks.

"Why what?" Sandeep says. He's opening up a new window to pull up the lyrics.

"Why do we need t'change the pronouns?" Louis says casually as he fixes the way his fringe is tucked under his beanie.

Harry stares at him.

Sandeep stares at him, too. It's Sandeep who speaks first. "Because that was Joan Jett's version, so she was singing about a boy."

"Why does it matter?"

Harry is torn between clapping his hand over Louis' mouth or his hands over Sandeep's ears, but it doesn't matter either way because the words are already out there, hanging in the stuffy air of the recording booth.

Harry has known, ever since that conversation he'd overheard in the hallway weeks ago, that he and Sandeep were playing the same game. He still just hasn't figured out what side he's on.

But right now Sandeep is looking thoughtfully at Louis like he's just handed him another piece to the puzzle and Harry doesn't think he wants Sandeep to have any pieces. Especially not whatever particular piece Sandeep thinks he's got now.

Harry knows he's mixing metaphors here. If he quicker-witted he'd have something perfect to say to make Sandeep forget whatever thoughts he's thinking right now, but — 

Instead he yells, "Spider!" and scrambles off the desk he's sitting on. He doesn't intend to fall down but he hadn't had time to uncross his legs. And, well, it gets attention at least.

"Oh my god, Harry," Liam exclaims.

Louis kneels next to him. "What the hell?" 

Sandeep blinks down at him and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, um." Harry rubs his sore tailbone. He glances back up at the desk. "There was a spider."

Louis follows his gaze and then looks back at him incredulously.

Zayn laughs. "Yeah, I think we got that."

"So, um, where's that spider again?" Niall asks, timidly edging his way towards the recording booth door.

Zayn gives him an unimpressed look. "Thought heights and tight spaces were the only things you were scared of."

"It's all right, I got it," Liam says, slamming his hand down on the desk.

"Wait, there actually was a spider?" Harry feels his eyes widen. That was right where he'd been sitting.

Liam groans and rubs his hand over his eyes.

 

 

After Louis has helped him back up off the floor, their time with Sandeep is almost up and they have only enough time to mutually agree that Summer of '69 is a better fit for them after all. They're left with the homework to text Sandeep their suggestion for a second song by tonight.

 

 

"So, where is he?" Zayn asks as they walk back to the X Factor house from the train station.

"Where is who? Did we lose someone on the way?" Louis asks. He twists around and counts the five of them out loud before turning back to Zayn. "No, we're good. All accounted for."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "I was asking Harry where his boyfriend is. You said you told him last week, yeah?"

Harry nods cautiously. He meets Louis' eyes for a quick moment before looking away.

"Just wondering if he came to the show," Zayn says with a shrug.

"Oh, um."

"Yeah, really, lad would be a right wanker not to, wouldn't he?" Louis says.

Harry shoots him an incredulous look.

"No, I just meant it like—" Zayn starts, looking a little confused. "I'm not saying that he's a jerk or something if he wasn't there."

Louis gives him a shrug. "Didn't Harry travel all the way back in time for him? Not too much t'ask that he be a little supportive, I don't think."

Harry catches Liam looking up from his phone in bewilderment.

"Maybe he's not even near London, though," Niall says. "Harry said he was a singer. Could be off touring somewhere, couldn't he?"

"What? I—" Harry looks around at them all. "I never said he was a singer."

"You said he wrote that one song. And you said he was famous for something more than just being with you," Niall says. "No one who's just a songwriter is that famous."

Harry opens his mouth to argue that but Niall's logic isn't faulty — 

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Zayn says.

Niall shrugs. "Harry asked us not to guess anymore. He never said we couldn't think about who it might be."

"Indeed he didn't," Louis says. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully at Harry. "So, Nialler, who do you think it is?"

"Don't know yet, but he is a singer, isn't he?" Niall says.

"I—" Harry tries again.

"How's his singing, then, Hazza?" Louis interjects. "Is he any good?"

"He's... not terrible?" Harry says slowly.

Zayn laughs. "Solid endorsement there."

"Is his voice as deep as yours?" Louis asks with fake curiosity.

"No?" Harry tries. He doesn't know what Louis thinks he's doing but if he doesn't want the other boys to figure it out, he shouldn't be encouraging this. "His voice is, like, the opposite of mine, I guess?"

"So he's the opposite of Yoko Ono and his voice is the opposite of yours?" Niall says. "You could at least give us some better clues."

"I haven't meant to give you any clues, though," Harry protests. Louis shakes his head at him. His eyes are light blue like the sky overhead, and crinkled in the best way.

 

 

"Fancy a cuppa?"

Zayn bursts out laughing in the middle of his sentence. He takes the proffered cup. "Was trying to answer the question."

Louis just ignores him and he reaches down to pour another cup. He passes the next cup up the staircase to Liam, who raises his eyebrows at him. Niall, who's cracking up beside him, gets the next. And he turns around and to serve Harry the last one. And winks at him.

"So, um," Zayn tries again. "Like I was saying — what was the question again?"

"Please do try to concentrate, lad." Louis tuts at him. "But we'll move onto the next one then." He pulls out a paper from below them and straightens it out, peering at it over glasses that are definitely not his own.

Harry hides a smile by pretending to take a sip of his own cup of tea. Pretending because he's well aware that there is literally no chance there isn't something horrendous mixed in.

"So," Louis says finally, squinting. "Alex wants to know, does anyone like to sing in the shower?"

"What sort of person doesn't sing in the shower?" Liam asks.

"That's an affirmative from Payno," Louis says. Then turns to Niall. "And you, Neil?"

Niall laughs. "Of course I do."

"What songs do you sing in the shower, then? Zayn?" Louis turns to him.

"I like a little Chris Brown," he says.

Harry watches Louis do a double-take and Niall laughs.

"I like the Script," Liam says. He takes a sip of his tea and then continues, "I like their new song — what the—" He grimaces and holds up his mug. "What did you _put_ in this?"

"Are you insulting my _tea_ -making skills, Payno?"

"I bloody am, this tastes like—" Liam is still grimacing.

On the step beside Louis, Niall peers into his cup. "Like gherkins? I think I see one in here."

Zayn makes a gagging sound.

"Are you mad? Why would anyone put gherkins in their tea?" Liam asks, as if he doesn't know Louis at all.

"Lads, please, if we can get back on track," Louis says. He adjusts his wire-frame glasses and looks back at the camera. "Apologies to our viewers for this lot. Can't seem to stay focused."

Harry tries not to giggle.

Pattie gestures to them from beside the camerawoman. "Why don't we just end with the announcement that Justin Bieber will be doing a guest performance on Sunday?"

"Okay," Zayn says, straightening up next to Harry. "So, we're all looking forwards to seeing—"

"No," Louis gestures up at Zayn, wagging his finger. "You sing Chris Brown in the shower. Your speaking privileges have been revoked."

Niall laughs and takes the announcement over. Then Louis turns back to the camera and says, "Thanks for watching! Tune in next week for more fun! We've grown a bit attached to this staircase here, so even if we get voted off, we'll be sneaking back in here for another video diary."

Harry looks around Louis to plead to the camera, "So please vote for us so we're not arrested for trespassing."

When it's over, Louis grabs the jar of pickled gherkins from where he'd been hiding it and pops one into his mouth before heading to the kitchen, leaving the rest of them to clean up the tea.

They get to the kitchen and Louis is sitting up on the worktop, crunching on a gherkin.

"So much better than last week," Zayn says in relief as Harry sets their cups in the sink. "Even with the gherkins."

" _Especially_ with the gherkins," Niall corrects him, fishing one out of his cup.

"Our diary last week had fewer views than it'd had in weeks," Liam says. "So I asked Louis if he could liven it up again. But, you know, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when we talked." 

He's still looking aggrieved at having been the one to drink the tea.

"What did you 'ave in mind, then, Payno?" Louis says. "Was going t'use salt but it was lacking that certain something."

"You used salt last time," Harry pipes up helpfully.

"He did this last time?" Zayn asks.

Harry nods as he grabs the soap and turns on the tap.

"Could've warned us," Liam mutters.

"Well, it wasn't exactly the same," Harry says. "Been a while since I watched the diaries. But I think there were still gherkins." He frowns. "And the salt had got everywhere. They made us hoover it up." He turns from the sink to look at Louis. "You put it in your beanie, didn't you?"

Louis laughs and adjusts his beanie. "Don't rightly know, Harold. I'm not the time traveler 'ere."

"That's weird," Zayn says. "I mean, why would that be something you changed?"

"I don't know," Harry says.

He watches as Louis takes one of the newly washed cups from his hands. Instead of drying it, he puts it back in the cupboard, precisely as helpful with the washing up as he's always been. Liam sighs and grabs a tea towel.

"Told you guys, I don't know the rules to this. Don't really know what I can change and can't, let alone what I _should_ ," Harry continues as he scrubs the next cup. "Like, early on, weeks ago, we did one of those TalkTalk things. And last time Louis had been sitting in Aiden's lap the whole time, but this time he wasn't." He hands Liam the cup. "So I told Gemma about it and she thought it was this thing called the butterfly effect." 

"Oh, yeah, wasn't that a film?" Niall asks. He grabs one of the cups Harry hasn't got around to washing yet, extracts the gherkin, plops it in his mouth, then hands the cup over.

"Apparently it means that small changes can have unintended consequences," Harry says. He can feel the itch of the memory of the butterfly tattoo over his abdomen. "Like, a butterfly flaps its wings and it ends up creating a hurricane on the other side of the world or something."

"Huh," Liam says.

"But, I don't know, there are some things that are different, but a lot's still the same," Harry says. He turns off the tap and turns around. "Sometimes even things I try to change. Like, remember that night at the club? I tried to keep Liam from spraining his ankle but I couldn't."

"It's the effort that counts," Louis says.

Harry gives him a pained look. He needs a lot more than the effort to count for Louis.

"It wasn't even that bad a sprain," Liam says, putting the last cup back in the cupboard. "Maybe that's why, because it didn't really matter."

"Or what if you can only change things related to the reason you came back?" Niall asks.

"Yeah, you didn't travel back in time to keep Payno from a minor injury, did you?" Louis says. Harry meets his eyes and bites his lip.

"So you're saying he traveled back in time to keep Louis from sitting in Aiden's lap?" Zayn says. "Or to keep Louis from putting salt in his beanie?"

Niall laughs. But Harry thinks it's not a bad idea, though. He doesn't see why those things would matter, either, but they are both connected to Louis.

 

 

Their quest for choosing an emotional song leads them on a spiraling YouTube hunt, debates on the definition of 'rock', more debate on Simon Cowell's definition of 'rock', resounding 'no's to every suggestion of Harry's that involves Elvis, and a semi-successful spy mission to discover the other contestants' songs. The evening culminates in Harry and Rebecca sobbing into each other's shoulders on the sofa while 90's disaster films stream on the telly.

"Um," Harry hears Liam say when the credits roll. "Is that a 'yes' to I Don't Want to Miss a Thing?"

"Maybe we should watch the animal crackers scene again?" Harry suggests, wiping his eyes.

"Not sure you and Rebecca could handle that scene again," Louis says, as he traces light circles over Harry's back.

Harry lifts his head from where he's still been tucked into Rebecca's shoulder.

"We could," he insists.

"It wouldn't be so bad now that we know he doesn't die," Rebecca says bravely.

"No," Zayn says adamantly. "I do not need to watch anyone putting food in anyone else's knickers again."

"Not even to the backdrop of her father singing love songs?" Matt asks, having been the one who had googled that less-than-savory fact.

" _No_ , god, I think I'm going to be sick," Zayn says. He takes a deep breath. "The song isn't rubbish, though."

"It's not. Think you boys would do great with it," Rebecca agrees.

Liam holds up his phone. "Sandeep says he'll let us know in the morning if Simon can get the rights."

 

 

The lights in the room are still on as the other boys get ready for bed. Harry's already up in his bunk when he feels the frame of the bunkbed shake with someone coming up.

Harry sits up on his elbows, duvet falling down his chest, as Louis climbs over him and settles in his usual spot — _formerly_ usual spot — between him and the wall.

"Um, hi."

"Hi," Louis says. He holds out his hand, revealing a small stack of biscuits. "Brought you something."

"Cheers?" Harry says, picking one up.

"It's an animal cracker," Louis says.

"It's a Rich Tea Biscuit."

"Shhh," Louis hisses. "Don't tell Niall. He wanted t' know what animal crackers tasted like."

Harry stares down at the broken-off biscuit piece in his hand.

"See, this one's a monkey," Louis says, holding up another piece of biscuit. Harry opens his mouth but Louis says, "Oi, stop judging me, Harold. We not exactly equipped with precision biscuit-cutting machinery in this house."

"No, I suppose we aren't," Harry says. He lifts up the one in his hand. "What's this one, then?"

"A giraffe, obviously," Louis says, rolling his eyes.

"Obviously," Harry echoes.

"Look." Louis snatches the 'giraffe' out of Harry's hand and then pushes the duvet down where it's half-covering Harry's chest. He makes the lopsided triangle of a biscuit march up Harry's bare stomach. "Here's a giraffe, marching down the savannah."

"Do giraffes even march?"

"Of course they march," Louis says, sounding affronted. "Look, now he's marching over the rolling hills—" He has the giraffe march over Harry's ribs.

Harry can't help but giggle.

"Shh," Louis admonishes him. He has the biscuit tip on its side at Harry's belly button. "Now he's taking a sip at the watering hole."

"Oh my god," Harry says, laughing again.

Louis pokes at his dimples just as the room plunges into darkness and Liam announces it's time to sleep.

Louis lets out an aggrieved sigh and tosses the biscuits off the side of the bunk to the floor. But he doesn't make a move to leave Harry's bed. Instead he leans on his elbow beside him and says in a quieter voice, "You haven't been laughing as much as you used to."

"I also used to be sixteen," Harry says, feeling himself deflate. He's probably been laughing more this past month than he has in years and he hadn't realized it was still noticeably _less_ than before. "I'm not, like, _unhappy_ or anything, Lou. It's just... I think the world's more complicated than it used to be."

Louis just looks back at him. Harry tries to examine his expression for more sign of what he's thinking, but it's too dark and Louis can be a closed book when he wants to, anyways.

It's sort of amazing, though, in the darkness like this, where he can only make out the general shape of Louis' face, his cheekbones, the barest light reflected in his eyes. All the years of the present and future meld together within those lines. 

He could be the Louis after a big concert, still hyped up and grinning back at him. He could be a Louis gazing back at him with a soft post-orgasmic sort of fondness until Harry tackles him back down for more cuddles. He could be making ridiculous faces at Harry just to make him giggle. He could grinning down at him in between clumsy, drunk kisses. 

Or he could be hollow-eyed, sunken-cheeked, days of scruff on his jaw and apologizing to Harry over and over for not being good enough.

Or... or he could be young and crinkly-eyed and still so excited for everything to come.

"I'd ask if I had something on me face if I didn't know it was too dark to see," Louis tells him.

"Sorry," Harry says. He hadn't realized how long he'd just been staring. Or just hadn't remembered that this Louis wasn't used to Harry just randomly looking at him, just because he liked to. "Just. You look so different, but also, like... the same." 

"Do I lose my good looks in me old age, then?" Louis says lightly.

Harry pokes him in the ribs and he yelps out an 'Oi!', causing Zayn to mutter at him to quiet down from across the room.

"That's not even possible," Harry says quietly.

There's a confused moment and then Louis says, "Well, haven't seen me in a while, 'ave you? Was probably an old man by now."

"Seen you. Just not in person," Harry whispers. He traces the line of Louis' collarbone under his tee. Louis' breath hitches and Harry lets his hand drop down and finally looks away. "Honestly, Lou, Gemma and Nick had to stage an intervention for me to stop watching fan footage of your concerts."

"Hazza..." Louis starts. He says, "there's so much of this that doesn't even make sense."

"And you're not the one I've gone the longest without seeing, anyways," Harry changes the subject. "Been mostly living in LA, only even see Liam and Niall once in a while. They're still really close with you, though. Especially Liam."

"Oh," Louis says.

There's a long moment of silence in the darkness. Then Louis pushes as his shoulder. "Budge up and let me under the blanket."

"Are you staying here?" Harry asks. He makes himself add, "You don't have to."

"My bed's a mess. I go back down there I'll probably suffocate under the piles of t-shirts," Louis says matter-of-factly.

Harry still hesitates for a moment. He doesn't really know what Louis is doing here, or what he wants. But he's tired and lonely and cold, so all he can bring himself to say is, "Just because I'm older now doesn't mean I don't get to be the little spoon."

Louis bursts out laugh. "Why am I not surprised, Hazza."

"Quiet, over there," Zayn's grumpy voice calls out again. A moment later he adds, "And I better not wake up with one of those biscuits in my pants."

Louis calls back, "Best sleep with one eye open then!"

 

 

Harry wakes the next morning to arms wrapped tight around his middle, a forehead pressed against the back of his neck, the sharp edge of a stray Rich Tea Biscuit-slash-Animal Cracker digging into his hip, and an otherwise empty One Direction dorm room.

Harry wriggles around to extract said biscuit. The arms around his waist loosen as Louis behind him scoots backwards. Harry misses him already. Louis is made up of so many sharp angles but when he curls his body around Harry he's never anything but soft and warm. 

When Harry just rolls over to look at him, Louis is young in the morning light, fluffy hair, soft eyes, the cautious hint of a smile on his lips.

"Um," Harry says. He isn't really sure what to say, so he just holds up the biscuit. "What did Niall say they tasted like?"

Louis looks puzzled for a moment, then laughs. "Ah. He said they were better than the biscuits we had stocked in the house."

"He didn't honestly think they were different?"

Louis shrugs and says, "Who ever really knows with that kid."

A fair point.

Harry looks around the empty room again. "Where is everyone? Is it late?"

"Relax, don't have nothing on for a couple of hours," Louis says. "Told the lads t'let you be. Seemed like you needed the sleep."

"Yeah," Harry says. He yawns behind his hand. "Probably did, I haven't slept this well since..." He trails off. It's probably obvious that he means since Louis stopped sharing his bed, but he also probably shouldn't say it.

So instead he awkwardly extracts himself from Louis' side and climbs down the bunkbed. He still has the fragment of biscuit in his hand and snatches up the other pieces from the floor.

"Are you okay?" Louis asks as he leaps off the bunkbed with the usual ease that Harry lacks. He pokes at Harry's bare shoulder.

"Yeah, just." Harry takes a deep breath and holds up the biscuit pieces. "This is why we couldn't be together. You're always doing things like this."

Louis' hand drops down from Harry's shoulder. "Throwing biscuits on the floor?"

"No." Harry runs an aggrieved hand through the mess of his hair. "Taking care of people. Making these for Niall. And, like, trying to cheer me up."

"Okay?" Louis says cautiously. "Is that such a problem, though? I mean, I like taking care of people."

"It's a problem," Harry says quietly. He tosses the biscuits in the bin in the en-suite and when he turns back around, Louis is still standing there in his faded t-shirt and trackies, watching him.

Harry gestures around the room. "Look, just imagine, Lou, if sixteen year old Harry was here."

"Not too hard to imagine since that's what I thought up until about ten days ago," Louis points out dryly.

"Well, imagine him, like, following you around all the time, like a puppy dog or something."

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"He can't help himself, you know," Harry continues. "He thinks you're the best person he's ever met. It's not just that you're the fittest boy he's ever seen. It's so much more. You're fun and funny and clever and you're so, like, exciting just to be around." Harry can't help a rueful smile as he stares off, recollecting. "Everyone wants to be around you. You could have, like, anyone's attention for as long as you wanted it. But for some reason you keep paying special attention to him. And you're kind and sweet and you're always making sure he's okay. Like, that he's not too homesick, or anxious about the competition, or hasn't forgot to eat breakfast because he always gets cranky later if he doesn't."

Louis chuckles a little, though Harry doesn't miss the flush on his cheeks.

"And, Lou," Harry says. "He _adores_ you."

Louis raises his eyes back to him. "You know that's — that's not one-sided, H. You _know_ that."

Harry bites his lip and nods. "Yeah, I do know," he says softly. He paces away from him. "And, so, I also know that you'd probably want to protect him, right? From anything you could? Like, I know you've only known him since Manchester, what, four months ago? But there probably isn't anything you wouldn't have done to keep him from being hurt, is there?"

"You're saying this all like it's a bad thing," Louis says.

Harry sighs. "Look, just — I'm going to tell you a story, okay?"

"Is it like your time traveling story?" Louis asks. "Because my standards are raised now. I required detailed accounting of all relevant weather events."

Harry wishes he were the type of person who could stop himself from smiling at that.

"All right, I'm listening," Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay, like." Harry thinks about how to say it. "All right, here's how it goes. Remember that sixteen year old Harry? Well, early on, not long from now really, you've been proper boyfriends for just a few weeks when you're told that people can't know you're together."

"Who tells us that?"

"I don't know. Everyone?" Harry says. He shrugs. "See, you're in this new boyband and you're supposed to have this romantic fantasy image so teenage girls will buy your songs, yeah?"

Louis' brow furrows a little.

"And it's not that big a deal at first, really. Like, you can't hold hands or kiss in the middle of the road or whatever. Lots of couples don't do that anyways. And you don't have to pretend around the people who are important to you. They've all signed non-disclosure agreements. And you and your boy, you'll even get to live together and share hotel rooms and, like, it's not so bad that people can't know, yeah?"

"But," Louis says.

"But," Harry confirms. "People notice anyways. Fans notice."

"Okay."

"And then it's a year from now and you're about to drop your first single and it's set to be one of the most pre-ordered singles _ever_. People have bet a lot of time and a lot of money on it. There's massive potential there. And so everything's micromanaged down to the smallest detail. Nothing can go wrong."

Louis gives a small nod.

"And, like, maybe it's okay, on some level, to be a pop singer and be gay. If you have the right team they can work with that. But to have a gay member of a brand-new boyband?" Harry shakes his head. "Let alone have two boys in the band who've been in a relationship with _each other_ this whole time? That's going to sink the whole ship before it even sails, right?"

He crosses his arms around himself and takes a deep breath.

"So, anyways," Harry continues. "Things get a lot more serious. Your team wants you two to hide it better. And it's obvious that just holding back from full-out snogging in public isn't going to be enough. So it starts with giving you a fake girlfriend and giving your boy a reputation for sleeping with women twice his age." Harry clenches his fists at his sides, staring out the tiny loft window. "And it sucks. It sucks so much. And your boy is taking it hard. And you're you, yeah? You take care of people. So you try to make it into a game for the two of you, to cheer him up. You'll do what you're told to do but you'll also sneak in as much as you can get away with."

"Like," he continues. "you'll tweet jokey things that aren't actually jokes. Sneak glances and blow each other kisses when the cameras aren't on you. And you'll still touch and hug each other a lot but it's okay because you're just particularly close mates, yeah?" Harry shrugs. "You'll even have a competition to see who can look the most miserable when you're photographed with your fake love interests."

"Who wins?" Louis asks.

"Er, it's kind of a draw." Harry thinks back. "And then — look, do you remember, a couple of weeks ago when I said I was gay, that we had an interview right after and the first thing you did was make sure I didn't have to lie. You've done that a few times now, even after you knew I wasn't sixteen."

"You still shouldn't have to lie, H," Louis says quietly.

"Yeah, so you make that a rule for your boy, too, from the very beginning. That he won't have to lie." Harry kicks absently at a wrinkled shirt lying on the floor. "Like, they can make you two stand next to girls and feed whatever rumors they wanted to The Sun, but he won't have to actually lie. I mean, it's a rule for both of you at first, but, well."

He looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

"But things just keep moving. If you think things are insane now being on The X Factor, this is a whole new level. Your single debuts at number one in the UK, and then your album does too. You start touring and the venues keep selling out, over and over. You're in Australia and Europe and then the US. And then before you know it, fuck, your album's about to be released in America. And..."

"And?" Louis prompts when Harry trails off.

"And it's not working," he says, shoulders slumping down. "That game you're playing with your boyfriend? People are seeing right through it. And America is just — it's big. So big. So many people and so much money and so much more at stake. And the paps are more aggressive there and the parents are, too. Like, here, you're in the closet because you want girls to believe you're romantically available. In America, parents literally think they have to protect their innocent little girls from those degenerate gays." He offers Louis a sad smile. "Never mind that some of those little girls are just realizing they might not be straight themselves. I mean, you have no idea, there are days I think that if I hear the words 'family values' one more time that I'm going to just, like, I don't know, commission a wardrobe made out of actual rainbows."

"Might be a little expensive, that," Louis says.

"Yeah, well, loads of money in America, yeah?" Harry gives him a rueful smile. "Anyways, it's not just you and your boy. If you think it's hard to sell someone who's LGBT in the States, try someone who's Muslim. Like, the number one blacklisted question in interviews? It's not even about you guys, it's about religion."

"Zayn." Louis purses his lips. "Reckon he takes that well. Lad's still complaining about them cutting his angst about Ramadan from the Judges' Houses episode."

"Yeah, he takes it exactly as well as you'd expect," Harry says. "And, like, your team is pretty inexperienced. They've never even managed a boyband before and definitely never done anything on this scale. It's not just that they've let you get away with too much, but, well, there's already interview footage out there with your boy offering to give you a blowjob, so."

Louis' jaw drops. "You asked me that — on TV?"

"Well, I didn't know the mics were going to pick it up," Harry protests. 

"You..."

"I was seventeen! I had a really fit boyfriend, I really liked giving blowjobs, the loo was right there, and if Niall talked long enough — and he would've, he's a proper mate — we might've had seven minutes before your turn to be interviewed," Harry says with the practice of having to defend himself from being teased for _that_ slip-up for years. He doesn't even realize he's counting out his arguments on his fingers until he's already at number five and Louis is still gaping at him.

"Anyways," Harry says quickly. Because this was definitely not what he'd meant to talk about. "So it's not just that your team hasn't made you and your boy be more discreet."

"Okay," Louis says after a moment, though the effort of forcing himself to focus back on the topic is clear on his face.

"It's also that they've managed to pick the one gay boy in the band to push as the frontman," Harry continues. "And then assigned his boyfriend a fashion style that makes him look really hot but also really not straight. And then made the one Muslim member of the band the dangerous and mysterious one." Harry shrugs. "So your team? They know they've screwed up. And now they've been working around the clock trying to make sure you're hitting America as five very wholesome, very heterosexual, very not-controversial teenage boys. They know they're just a misstep away from having only two marketable members."

Harry shrugs. "I mean, their methods aren't always, like, okay. But there's a lot of money at stake, so."

"So," Louis echoes, looking more sober now.

"So it's a real problem that people still aren't buying that you and your boy are straight," Harry says. "And, you know, your boy, he's not just a hopeless actor. He's this sensitive little thing, too. I mean, he's going to still be crying at stupid Ben Affleck films when he's twenty-four."

Louis gives him a sympathetic smile and Harry continues, "And what's worse is that because they've got him positioned as the frontman and given him this over-the-top womanizer persona, the interviewers keep wanting him to answer questions about his love life. Who he's dating, who he thinks is hot, how many girls he's slept with, you know. But then when they do, instead of giving them the talking points you all rehearsed, he gets all stammery and uncomfortable. And there's only so much Liam can be expected to cover for, really."

Harry offers Louis a wry smile that probably falls flat.

"That means that the responsibility is on you," Harry says. "And you're still so intent on protecting your hopeless boyfriend."

"Hazza, fuck, that doesn't make you _hopeless_."

Harry shakes his head sadly and continues, "So you keep making deals with your management. You'll do this one thing if it means your boyfriend doesn't have to. You'll be willing to lie if they'll stop asking him to. And you keep just — You just keep trying to make things okay for him. And the next thing you know, your team's asking you to deny the relationship with your boyfriend on live TV and then to kiss your fake girlfriend in front of the paps. But then." Harry looks away, feeling a sting in his eyes. "Then you come home to your boy and what does he do? He cries and begs you never to say out loud that you aren't together, to not kiss Eleanor. To not kiss anyone but him _ever_."

"Harry," Louis starts.

"So you keep drawing lines but the lines keep moving and—" Harry looks back at him, meeting his eyes. "That's just the first year after What Makes You Beautiful drops. The first year, Lou. That's just the _beginning_."

Louis opens his mouth.

"So, yes," Harry says, before Louis can say anything. "Yes, I know you like taking care of people. I _know_. But—"

"There you are!"

Harry startles at the bedroom door slamming open and Niall elbowing his way inside.

"Was looking all over for you," Niall says. "We're doing one of those Xtra things, come on."

"Which one?" Louis asks after a beat.

"You know, that one — interrogation or something? The one they never let you do the announcing for?"

"You're not making a good case for rushing down," Louis says, voice still a little hoarse. 

"X-Terrogator?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, that's it." Niall snaps his fingers. "Let's go." But as he starts to walk out, he calls back, "Might want to get some trousers on first, though, Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: if harry hadn't run out of fingers, his sixth argument would have been: "And I still don't understand why you said I had to wait."
> 
> ... aka the chapter in which I looked all over to find the date for the "lou, can i give you a blow job?" interview
> 
> (for future reference, Sept 2011)
> 
> ... and the chapter in which having looked up when ramadan in 2010 coincided with the XF finally pays off (because you never know when that sort of fact will come in handy); I headcanon that zayn was angsting over whether not drinking water before their final performance for Simon would be bad for his voice. What did he decide to do? We'll never know, because he got upstaged by Louis's stupid sea urchin sting :/


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a timely reminder that the 'internalized homophobia' tag up there is no joke... please take care if that's triggering for you
> 
> and also a disclaimer that this is pretty canon compliant as far as public events go, but everything else is fictional. I don't want to imply that all or any of this actually happened this way.
> 
> wow, okay, with disclaimers out of the way, here's the new chapter! thank you all again so much for reading along

"Who's the messiest in the house?"

"One Direction," Cher says.

"One Direction," Matt grins.

"Those little boys from One Direction because they are there without mummy and daddy." Wagner shoots them a smarmy smile from across the room.

"The boys can be quite messy," Katie says. "Their bedroom is an absolute tip."

The PA gestures at the camera trained on the boys and on cue they all give helpless shrugs.

The lounge on the ground floor is covered in white sheets, from the sofa and chairs pushed against the walls to the walls themselves. The windows are shuttered against the foggy morning light and the room is bright with spotlights. There are few enough contestants in the house now — especially with Mary off at Syco practicing with Louis Walsh — that they're filming The X-terrogator all at once instead of in separate parts.

Due to Zayn holding the bathroom hostage for an epically long shower, Harry had been the last of the boys down. He'd received an eyeroll and a good-natured "well, we know who the latest contestant is" from Konnie.

Louis had given him a smile and a puzzlingly warm, "Hello, Curly" as the boys had shifted over to make room for him.

"Which contestant is the biggest wimp?" Konnie is asking from behind the cameras.

"Mary Byrne," Louis says confidently.

"Mary Byrne," Cher says.

"Mary Byrne. She's scared of spiders," Wagner says.

"She goes arrrgh!" Rebecca screams, waving her arms.

Niall starts laughing and the PA makes a hushing sound at him.

"All right, who is the flirtiest in the house?" Konnie asks.

Harry catches the boys glancing at each other and represses the urge to sigh.

"You know, I used to think it was Harry," Cher says, drawing out the twangy lilt of her words. "But I think it's actually Zayn."

It's not until the cameras are focused on Katie that Harry realizes what she said and does a double-take. But Konnie hasn't paused and made her re-film it, so Harry thinks he must have heard it wrong.

But then he hears Katie say, "Absolutely Zayn."

Harry glances around at the rest of the boys for some clue as to what's going on but none of them are looking at him.

"Zayn," Rebecca says with a smile. "He's got that soulful R&B kind of vibe."

Then the camera's on them and Konnie says, "So, boys, who's the flirtiest?"

"Well," Louis says as he twists around on the sofa to face Harry with a long-suffering sigh. "Used to think it was this lad who was the flirty one."

"But," he continues. "Turns out it was just these deceitful curls." He tugs lightly at Harry's hair. And then he pokes at Harry's cheek. "And these cheeky dimples." Harry can't help a smile at the pun, at the mischief glinting in Louis' eyes, even though he has no idea what's happening here.

Then Louis lets him go and looks pointedly over at Zayn. "There's no question, the flirtiest is actually this one 'ere."

"Yeah, girls are always going right for him," Niall says.

"And the other way around," Liam says.

" _Definitely_ the other way around," Louis says.

Zayn smirks at the camera.

 

 

"What was that? Zayn's the flirty one?" Harry hisses after he's managed to drag them out the back door for some privacy.

"Haven't you had enough time being the flirty one, Hazza? Time to let someone else take a turn, innit?" Louis says, slinging an arm around Zayn's shoulders.

"Yeah, Louis told us what happened," Niall says.

Harry stares. He certainly would have expected more of a reaction from the boys if Louis had told them, but —

"I told them what you were saying about the roles they made for you and Zayn," Louis says lightly. "Sounded like it didn't work out so well for either of you. We thought we'd change things around this time."

"But I literally just told you that," Harry says. "How did you even have time to... do whatever you did?"

"Spread the word that Zayn's the flirty one now?" Louis says and shrugs. "Not long."

"Konnie agreed to it?"

"We just passed on everyone that they told us at that media training yesterday they wanted to change the roles up a bit."

"And she believed that?" Harry asks.

"Well, we also might've hidden her phone so she couldn't text Simon's PA to verify." Zayn smirks as he gives Niall a fist bump.

"But—"

"And then it had taken too long to get everyone sorted that she couldn't hold the filming off to find it," Liam contributes.

"You were involved in this, too?" Harry asks Liam incredulously. Then turns to Zayn. "When did you do that, though? You were in the shower half the morning."

"Was I?" Zayn raises an eyebrow. "Or was it just that the door was closed with the shower turned on to keep you waiting up there?"

Harry stares at him.

"To be fair, most of the espionage work was Niall. This one—" Louis squeezes his arm around Zayn's shoulders. "—spent most of the time trying t'convince some poor gullible contestant to use the words R&B t'describe him."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"It did. Now can we go back indoors?" Louis asks. He's the only one of them in short sleeves and he's rubbing his bare arms. "It's rainy and cold out 'ere, in case you lads didn't notice."

"Is it raining, though?" Liam asks, looking around the fog of the back gardens. 

"Who even knows, fucking London," Louis mutters.

As they shuffle back in through the door, Harry says, "I just can't believe it'll be that easy. Simon won't be happy when he finds out."

"Well, _I_ can't believe everyone in this house is afraid of spiders," Zayn says. "But apparently they are."

"Some people here are even afraid of fake spiders," Louis says meaningfully.

"I'm afraid of real ones, too," Harry protests. Which only serves to earn himself four unimpressed looks.

"Just to be clear, though." Niall halts in the middle of the kitchen. "There was no spider in the recording booth."

"Er, no," Harry says.

"Ever."

"No," Harry says. Then thinks about all the dark crannies between the sound equipment and wraps his arms around himself. "Well, maybe not _never_ ever."

"Why did you say there was, then?" Niall asks. Then rounds on Liam. "And why did you pretend to kill it?"

Liam raises his arms defensively. "I don't know why he did it. But then you got scared so I thought I'd play along and you'd think it was gone."

Louis shrieks, "Payno, you _are_ a team player after all!" And throws his arms around him.

"Oi, get off me." Liam flails, attempting to shove Louis off.

Zayn and Niall start cracking up and Harry bites back a smile.

"Get in, lads!"

Zayn and Niall join in and Louis releases Liam just along enough to grab for Harry and yank him forwards. And then somehow Harry finds himself at the center of the group hug and he can't help but laugh along.

"Ugh, you boys are disgusting," comes Cher's complaining voice.

"Take that out of here, you're blocking the kettle," Mary reprimands them.

 

 

A few minutes after that, Sandeep arrived, took in their mussed-up hair from the group hug and promptly sent them up to their room to fix it before the camera crew arrived to film their session.

Louis had insisted he couldn't fix his hair alone, so Harry's currently got a glob of Zayn's gel in one hand and a short lock of Louis' hair curled around the fingers of his other. 

Harry is hesitant to be so close to him, especially after the conversation they had just hours ago in this same room. But Louis had insisted that only Harry could help him and Harry's trying not to notice how softly Louis' looking at him right now, from just inches away. Instead he attempts to focus on the task of getting Louis' hair to behave with Zayn's greasy gel.

He must say that last part out loud because Zayn grumbles, "Stop complaining about my products. Paid nine quid for that one."

"Why would you spend nine quid on _hair gel_?" Louis demands incredulously, whipping his head around, with his hair still tangled around Harry's fingers. Harry gets an 'Oi, lad, careful!' and mumbles an apology back. Louis asks Zayn, "Do you know how many Barbies that would buy?"

Niall laughs.

"Why are you even buying Barbies?" Liam asks.

"For his sisters," Harry answers without thinking about it. 

"Nine quid would only buy you, like, part of a Barbie, anyways," Zayn says. And then at Niall's laughter he says crossly, "Louis' not the only one with sisters here, you know."

"Which part of the Barbie?" Niall asks, still laughing.

"Little boys like dolls, too, sometimes," Harry puts in with a bit of a pout. He's maybe still a little sore about that disappointed birthday when his parents thought Harry was joking about wanting the baby doll in the Toytown shop window.

"Course they do, love," Louis says softly. Then points to the side of his own head. "You missed a spot."

"You can't even see that," Harry complains. But he squeezes out more of Zayn's £9 gel anyways.

"You never told us why you pretended to see a spider," Niall asks him after a moment.

It takes Harry a moment to realize what Niall's asking. Then he says, "Just a distraction."

"From what?" Zayn asks. "We'd just been going over the song."

"He did it when I was asking Sandeep why we had to change it from he to she," Louis points out.

"Because we're boys, obviously. We're not going to sing about a boy," Liam says from where he's sitting on his bed.

"Yeah, can't have gay boys in a boyband," Harry mutters blithely as he smoothes down some of the spikier parts of Louis' hair.

Liam stares at him, eyes widening. "Shit, that's not what I meant — I didn't think —"

"It's fine," Harry says. And then attempts to change the subject, because now he feels bad for making Liam feel bad. "Did you know there's loads of rumors that Joan Jett's gay. And they'd changed the original lyrics from a girl to a boy for her to sing. And then they were going to have to change them back to being about a girl for us. Louis was probably just thinking it was sort of ridiculous to keep going back and forth."

"No," Louis says slowly. There's a taut edge to his voice. "What I was thinking was that it's sort of _fucked up_ to keep going back and forth."

"Well," Niall says after a moment. "I'd thought the reason was going to have to do with stopping that spider apocalypse."

"What's with this lot and bloody spiders," Zayn mutters.

 

 

"Let's try it again, but with more emotion this time."

The cameras are focused on Sandeep teaching Liam the "vocal creak" to add emotion to his songs. It's not the most helpful choice of lesson for the morning, seeing as they'd wanted to put Liam more on the Summer of '69. But the camera crew is only with them for the beginning of their rehearsal, so they'd started in on it without even talking with Sandeep about who was going to take which parts.

At least it gives Harry some time to go over I Don't Want to Miss a Thing with Louis and Zayn.

"I thought you two on the verses for this one," Harry says.

He taps his pencil on the printed-out tabs Sandeep had handed them when he'd announced that they'd earned Simon's approval — and the rights — for it.

"What if Louis starts with the first half of this verse, then Zayn, you do the other half, because you'd be able to turn it into a run here — and Louis can do his voice crack thing on the 'ing' endings here—" He points. "And—"

Louis raises his eyebrows. "What's this voice crack thing? What Sandeep's going over with Liam?"

"No, that's different. I'm talking about that thing you do," Harry says. "You know what I'm talking about."

"No I don't?"

" _I_ don't know what you're talking about," Zayn says. "Why would you want his voice to crack?"

"I know I'm younger than when you last saw me," Louis says. "But I've actually gone through puberty already, you know." 

"It's for emotion. It's intentional," Harry says. "I don't even remember you not doing it. You really don't know what I'm talking about?"

Louis shakes his head. There's a small furrow in his brow now as he looks back at Harry.

"You must have learnt it really early on, then," Harry says, still feeling puzzled. "But you'll be brilliant at these lines either way."

"You could at least show us though?" Zayn says.

Louis touches Harry's knee. It makes Harry's heart drop to see the earnest look on his face, like Louis' afraid he's going to disappoint him.

"Yeah, if I learnt it early on, might be able t'learn now, right?" Louis suggests.

"Er, I can't really do it," Harry admits. "You actually tried to teach me but I couldn't get it to sound the same. You just kept telling me to pretend I was sobbing. Like, you even tried showing me pictures of sad kittens but it didn't work because I just get sniffly when I cry—"

"Yes." Louis snaps his fingers suddenly. "I know what you're talking about."

"You do?" Harry asks. He's mostly relieved, to be honest, to get that look of concern off Louis' face.

"So Louis _does_ know how to cry after all?" Zayn asks. 

Louis flicks his ear. "Of course I know how t'cry, you daft git."

"You were the only one who wouldn't cry at bootcamp. Not even when they told you to," Zayn protests.

When they'd been called back on-stage after they'd been rejected, the PAs had made Louis go to the toilets and he'd messed with his contacts until his eyes were red enough to look like he'd been crying.

Harry remembers because he himself, who'd hadn't needed any help being a teary mess, had doggedly followed him in, afraid that if he let Louis out of his sight, they'd go back to their different homes and he'd never see him again.

"Well, I just can't cry on demand now, can I?" Louis says. "No one was showing _me_ pictures of sad kittens."

"Why are we talking about sad kittens?" Niall asks, wandering over with a packet of Maltesers in his hand. "You should stop before you make Harry cry." Without waiting for a reply, he pops a chocolate ball into his mouth and says to Harry, "I need another clue."

"What?" Harry asks.

"Ooh, are we still trying t'figure out who Harry's mystery boyfriend is?" Louis leans forwards in anticipation. "Do you mean to tell us you haven't figured it out yet?"

"I haven't," Niall complains, plopping down on the floor next to them.

"What do you want t'know, then?" Louis asks.

"Wait, is Harry actually going to give me a clue?" Niall asks, brightening up.

Harry shoots Louis a look and Louis just raises his eyebrows at him.

"One question," Harry concedes.

"A whole entire question. Generous lad, 'ere," Louis says. He warns Niall, "Better make it count."

Niall taps his fingers against his Maltesers bag thoughtfully. Then says, "Okay, is he older or younger than you?"

"That's it?" Louis says. "What a boring question."

"What would you have asked, then?"

"Maybe..." Louis eyes Harry. "How about his favorite food?"

"But how would that help _me_ figure out who it is?"

Louis shrugs.

"Older," Harry answers. Then looks back at Louis and adds dryly, "And baked beans. Used to cook them for him every day."

"What?" Louis yelps. "I hate baked beans!"

"Good job you're not his boyfriend, then," Zayn says dryly.

"Wait," Niall says. "Is he still older than you? Or did he used to be older but now that you're older, he's younger?"

"I said one question," Harry tells him. "And I already answered two."

Louis laughs out loud. It's a beautiful sound. "That you did. Out of luck there, Nialler."

 

 

They have VIP seats at the Victoria House winter fashion show, they're mere feet from the beautiful and scantily-clad women walking down the runway, and hardly any of them are paying attention.

"He's marrying a commoner, though!" Niall exclaims, not for the first time tonight. "A commoner!"

As the only competitor without any personal investment in the monarchy, he has been oddly scandalized ever since Prince William and Kate Middleton's engagement was announced that afternoon.

"So?" Zayn says, sounding bored.

"Don't you care? He's your prince!" Niall says.

"I still don't see why we have to be here," Liam says resentfully. "We could be practicing our songs right now."

One of the PA's steps over to hush him as the announcer describes the next model's outfit. The fall of her thickly embroidered cape catches Harry's attention. He wonders how it would look cut into a suit —

"These aren't even winter clothes," Liam continues complaining from Zayn's other side. "She'd be cold in that even in the summer."

"Do ya think they'll actually go through with it?" Niall hisses a little more softly. "They won't, right? There must be some rule against that—" But then he's distracted by the model's long, all-but-bare legs as she walks right in front of them on the runway.

"If only you had someone you could ask about that," Louis says, knocking his shoulder into Harry's. "Someone who could predict the future."

Louis had just sat beside him when they'd arrived as if that wasn't a minor act of revolution. And indeed no one else seems to think it is. They're in front row seats with cameras aimed in their direction and none of the PA's have even attempted to separate them.

They've been much more interested in trying to get him to look like he's paying attention for the cameras. Louis has been alternating between playing on his phone, tapping impatient rhythms out with his foot, fidgeting with the lay of his fringe, drawing distracting circles over the side of Harry's thigh in a way that should have got them forcibly separated by now, and then playing with his phone some more.

Harry's paying more attention than he is and Harry's the one who has absolutely no interest in girls.

It's always been that way, though. Louis would join Harry in checking out fit boys. Sometimes he'd playfully flirt and then look over and wink at a pouting Harry until Harry would turn around and attempt to do the same. But rarely with pretty girls. Almost as if he never wanted Harry to feel left out.

"Do you know how it turns out?" Niall turns back to him once the model's walked back up the runway.

"I might." Harry shrugs.

"Does it — wait, don't spoil it for me, I don't want to know," Niall says.

"Make up your mind, lad," Louis tells him. "Been in a right mardy two weeks now wanting 'im to tell us everything and now you say you don't want to know."

Niall opens his mouth but he's stopped by the PA coming over to shush them again.

 

 

"Just one question," Niall says.

"I already answered one question today," Harry mumbles. The refreshment from finally having a good night's sleep has long worn off and now he's curled up in the back corner of the X Factor van that's bringing them back to the house.

"No, not about your boyfriend. About the engagement," Niall says. Because apparently he hasn't forgot the topic yet.

"Did you go to the wedding?" Liam asks from beside Harry.

Harry looks at him tiredly. "You're asking me if I went to the _royal wedding_? I didn't magically get a lordship in the future, you know."

"You did say we were, like, bigger than the Beatles, though," Zayn points out.

"So there is a wedding!" Niall exclaims. Then looks around, seemingly realizing the volume of his voice. The boys have the back of the car but Mary's sitting up front chatting with the driver.

"Of course there's a wedding," Harry says. "That's generally how you get married. Even gay people get to do it in the future."

Louis twists around from the bench seat in front of him and says, "Yeah?"

"29 March 2014," Harry says. "That was the first gay wedding."

"You remember the exact date?" Liam asks.

"Kind of a big deal when you grow up thinking you'll never get to," Harry mutters. A big enough deal that you go out to buy a ring for your boyfriend that same day. And then foolishly decide to wait to give it to him until he can wear it in public.

He hears a raspy, "Holy fuck."

He opens his eyes. Did he say that out loud?

He must have. Because all the other boys are looking at him now. Louis' jaw is dropped open, staring at him wide-eyed from the seat in front of him.

"Really didn't mean to say that out loud," Harry says, grimacing. He'd never even told _his_ Louis and now he blurts it out the first moment it comes to mind. 

But it's not as if that's in their future this time, either, so. Harry just looks away.

"2014?" Zayn says, disbelief in his voice. "How old were you then?"

"Would've been twenty, right?" Liam says.

"You were only twenty and you were going to propose to your boyfriend?"

Harry doesn't bother commenting on the irony of Zayn of all people sounding so scandalized by that.

"His boyfriend was older," Niall pipes up with the fact he'd learned earlier that day.

"Didn't know you were that serious," Liam says, putting his hand tentatively on Harry's shoulder.

Harry rubs his eyes. "He's the love of my life, Li. What was I going to do, _not_ marry him?"

He's not up to looking back at Louis right now and seeing whatever he must be thinking. So he just curls tighter into himself in the corner of the seat.

"Look, this is going to sound like a shitty thing to ask—" he hears Zayn start to say.

"Then don't ask it," Louis snaps.

"—But if it was so important, why didn't you just do it? Just come out?"

"You really want a list of all the reasons?" Harry says with a yawn. "We'd be here all night."

"Looks like we're here all night, anyways," Zayn says. "Why is there so much traffic at ten o'clock?"

Harry shrugs and then says, "Well, it was my boyfriend who wanted to, anyways." He's too tired, really, to resist the words coming out. "Not the very, very beginning. I mean, he was scared at first to tell anyone. Like, scared of what people were going to think about him, even his mum and dad. But then the moment someone told us _not_ to tell anyone, he wanted the whole world to know."

Harry blinks blearily out the window, watching the slowly passing lights of cars and lit-up adverts along the motorway.

"I was the one who didn't think it was a big deal," Harry admits. "I mean, you heard what Gemma said, pretty much everyone in my town knew I was gay and never seemed like they cared. So it didn't seem like something that was important to say out loud. And if it was bad for us, like, if we wanted to be a successful boyband and not just a homosexual novelty act, then it made sense not to."

"A homosexual novelty act?" Liam repeats, sounding aghast.

"Er, those weren't my words," Harry says.

"You stayed in the closet for _us_?" Niall asks, distressed.

"Yeah, a bit," Harry admits. "I mean, I think you all would have understood if we had come out. In fact, Niall, you probably would've been happy to join us on stage dancing in rainbow flags from the beginning. Probably would've hand-stitched the flags yourself, yeah?"

He shoots Niall a small smile, and then feels it drop from his face when he glances over to Zayn. 

"And then, god, by the end, Zayn, you were so angry that we were _still fucking lying after all these years_ — also not my words, by the way," Harry says, the irony sticking in his throat. He glances at Liam. "And, Liam, you were begging me to do anything at all to fix it."

"What about Louis?"

"What?" Harry looks up, frowning.

"What about Louis?" Niall repeats. "What did he say?"

"Oh." Harry glances at Louis for the first time since he'd started talking. But for being the quicker-witted one of the two of them, he's just staring at Harry, wide eyes reflecting the lights of the passing cars. So Harry bites his lip and just says, "Louis understood."

Mary's still making animated conversation with the driver up front. They've finally turned off the motorway, so they must not be far from the house now.

"He _understood_?" Zayn repeats, sounding incredulous. "It's not actually sounding all that _understandable_ , mate."

"Look," Harry says. "By the time me and my boyfriend realized the price was higher than we were willing to pay, the stakes were too high. Lots of money, lots of fans, lots of people's jobs." He sighs. "It was at the point where me and my boyfriend just making _eye contact_ in public was our team's next marketing crisis."

He looks around at the boys in the darkness of the car and offers a weak smile.

"And, you know, we wouldn't have just been coming out as a gay couple. We'd be coming out as liars. And dragging all our families and friends and fake girlfriends down with us."

"Fake girlfriends?" Niall repeats.

"And, well," Harry continues. "It turned out it didn't even matter. We'd actually signed away the legal right to make that choice a long time ago."

"Signed away?" Liam says. "Like, in your contract? Can they even put something like that in there? And how did they make your boyfriend sign a contract, too?"

Harry looks at him, a bit confused. He'd really thought Liam had guessed who it was. But apparently not. So he just says, weakly, "Um, yeah, they had him sign it, too."

 

 

As tired as Harry had been in the car, he still finds himself lying in bed unable to sleep, even when Liam's heavy breaths and Zayn's sleep-snuffles join Niall's snores.

But when the bed creaks and Louis is there, tucking in behind him, Harry rolls over and whispers, "You don't have to be here, Lou."

"Don't have t' — Fuck, where else would I _be_?"

"Did you hear anything I said today?" Harry says. "You should be anywhere but here with me."

"No, shut up, don't — don't say that."

"Don't say what?" Harry asks, starting to sit up. As much as pushing Louis away makes his heart hurt, it's also sort of the point.

"Just—" Louis sighs. "Don't _say that_ , Hazza."

And then Harry's too tired to resist when Louis just manhandles Harry back down and hugs him close and warm.

 

 

"I once threw a TV out the window," Zayn tells the camera.

After a beat he adds, "Of course, I was, like, six years old at the time."

Konnie turns to Harry. "What about you, Harry? What's the most rock and roll thing you've ever done?"

"I, um—"

Had an orgy in a hotel room in Mexico City (... rather, walked into his hotel room to find four naked girls in his bed and promptly ran away to hide in Niall's room where they played Mario Kart the rest of the night).

Properly trashed a hotel room (... in a lively night of truth-or-dare. And then gone to the front desk shamefully hung over the next morning only to have them refuse to lend him a broom to clean it up).

Badly lip synced a sold-out concert for twenty-four thousand fans (... because it was their twenty-second concert in thirty days and he could barely squeak out a note after the steroids his vocal coach gave him had stopped working the week before).

Snorted cocaine in the back of a club in West Hollywood just to say he _had_ (... and had his boyfriend so angry that, for the first time ever, he'd refused to speak to him for a full day).

Dated a Kardashian (... well, been photographed in close proximity to a Kardashian on multiple occasions).

Blown his entire first paycheck from the X Factor tour on a car (... and gave it to his mum for Mother's Day, and accidentally left her to pay the road tax).

Shown up late to a concert because he'd been having overly enthusiastic sex backstage (... ).

"Harry?" Konnie asks. "The most rockstar thing you've ever done?"

"Oh, right," Harry says. "Um, I think we stayed up til half nine the other night." After a pause, he adds. "Please don't tell our mums."

 

 

Harry's got a bit of a headache so luckily Konnie is happy enough with their first attempt at head-banging for the camera that she doesn't make them film it again.

And for some reason she doesn't even bring up how they'd fooled her into getting the wrong sound bites yesterday.

 

 

They spend the day at Syco working with Sandeep, then recording the group song for the week, then signing autographs for fans who should probably have been at school at that time of day, and then working with Sandeep some more.

Harry gets impatient with Sandeep's "Harry, I appreciate that you think I should work with the others instead but your part here is very difficult" and demonstrates a rather angrily passionate climax to Aerosmith's I Don't Want to Miss A Thing to the startled audience of Sandeep plus his four bandmates — plus Simon, who he hadn't even seen come in.

It at least convinces Sandeep that his time is better spent working with Niall on Summer of '69.

Afterwards, the five of them sprawl out in one of the empty conference rooms. It's not worth going back to the house when they're due to be filmed buying The X Factor charity single at the HMV on Oxford Street that night.

Harry is idly texting Gemma about the royal engagement — he seriously doesn't remember people being this obsessed last time around — while Louis and Niall try to throw Jelly Babies into each other's mouths, occasionally throwing a sneaky one at increasingly grumpy Zayn.

Harry glances over to see Liam hunched over, typing on his own phone, cheeks flushed.

"Talking to Danielle?" Harry asks idly.

Liam raises his head from his phone, startled. "I—yeah. She's going to be at choreography tomorrow for Summer of '69. How did you know?"

"Probably because you're blushing," Louis teases.

Liam's cheek flush darker even as he glares at Louis and says, "Shut up."

Louis just throws a Jelly Baby at him. It bounces off his forehead and, despite Louis shrieking at him not to, Niall nonchalantly picks it up off the floor and pops it into his own mouth.

Zayn groans loudly and lets his phone fall onto his stomach where he's sprawled back on the sofa.

"Lovely dramatics there, pal," Louis remarks.

"Shut up," Zayn groans.

"Why does everyone keep saying that today?"

"The better question is why people don't say that to you every day," Liam snipes back.

"Why would they? I'm delightful," Louis says, tossing another Jelly Baby at him.

"Think Geneva just broke up with me," Zayn says finally.

"What? Why?" Niall asks.

"X-Terrogator got posted," he says.

"You mean they actually posted it online? The way we did it?" Harry asks, surprised. He was sure they wouldn't get away with it.

"Well, they definitely posted the part where everyone says I'm the flirt of the house."

"You said you wanted to be the flirty one," Louis says, narrowing his eyes at him. "Could've been Niall instead. And I thought you said you and Geneva weren't serious."

"We aren't. Weren't," Zayn says. He sighs loudly. "Just, we were planning on getting together this weekend. She was going to come down after the live show."

"So you're whinging about missing a hookup?" Louis asks, incredulously. "Were you even listening to Harry's story last night? He bought his boyfriend a bloody ring that he couldn't even give to him and now you're sat here being dramatic about missing an easy _shag_?"

"Lou, no, it's okay. It's fine," Harry protests, reaching out to touch his arm.

"It's not _fine_ ," Louis insists.

But that's when one of the PA's shows up at the door to grab Harry to record his solo for the group song.

 

 

Harry's on his way back to the conference room where he'd left the boys when he hears a voice from down the hall. He recognizes it right away this time as Robert Gorden and has a sinking recollection of the last conversation he overheard in these hallways. But he can't help but press himself against the wall and inch closer to listen.

It's only his voice he hears and it sounds like he's on the phone to someone. He can hear the man's footsteps as he paces down the hallway.

After a minute listening, all he's heard about is him going over dates and viewership numbers that don't mean a thing to him, so he's about to attempt to tip-toe away as un-clumsily as possible.

But then he hears, "What about One Direction?... No, no, nothing's going according to plan there."

Harry halts and presses himself back up against the wall.

"Simon's happy with the votes. Well, it's money, isn't it? Of course he's happy... No, he wasn't ecstatic that plans had to change, but when is he ever? But he agreed it works out. He'd been looking for a way to downplay that Styles boy."

Harry frowns.

"Sure, of course, he's got that voice. But that attitude. Simon had thought we'd backed ourselves into a corner there making him too popular. Zayn's a better choice, in any case... Quite... No, it's about the other one."

A shuffling of footsteps and Harry can hear Robert's voice coming closer.

"Yes. Him. The perfect boyfriend." A small laugh. "A little ironic because... Well, yes, quite." 

Harry feels his heart pounding. 

"He's a wild card, but Simon wants to take a chance on it... Yes, we talked to them. More clips, bigger solos, more airtime."

His voice fades as Harry hears his footsteps in the other direction.

"Exactly, Marcie's going to go over it with them..." Is that last Harry make out.

Harry's feeling shaken as he walks back to the conference room. He's certain he's taken a few wrong turns because he's walking for a while and the building isn't actually that big.

Robert was obviously talking about him and Zayn and... it must have been Louis. But he doesn't know what to make of any of it.

He twists his phone over and over in his hand as he walks. He wishes there was someone he could talk to who —

His phone suddenly starts ringing. He's so startled by it that it clatters to the floor.

As he's bending over to pick it up, he hears, "Curly!"

Louis' leaning out of a door... the door to the conference room, in fact.

Harry realizes his phone's no longer ringing and he frowns down at it, about to swipe it open to see who he'd missed.

"Oh, that was me," Louis says, waving a dismissive hand. "We just thought you'd got yourself lost."

"Right," Harry says. "I had. You found me, though."

"Aye, just right outside," Louis says. He tilts his head at him quizzically. "You all right, Hazza?"

"Yeah," Harry says. He bites his lip. Louis is peering at him with light blue eyes under his new shorter hair, spiky-gelled at the sides. He has on a jumper and scarf, loose fit jeans.

Harry's heart is aching.

"Harry, you're here? Why are you waiting out in the cold?" Niall's voice comes from inside.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Yes, come on in from the dire cold of the hallway."

Harry takes a seat next to Niall, who offers him a piece off his chocolate bar — Harry is starting to suspect Niall's somehow been bribing whoever's been stocking the catering tables this week. Louis rejoins Zayn where they'd apparently been engaged in a rousing game of... noughts and crosses on the whiteboard.

"Who's winning?" Harry whispers loudly to Niall as he takes a bite of the chocolate.

"Liam was," Niall says. "But then he was disqualified when Louis checked the rulebook and you can't use a green marker."

"There's a rulebook for that?" Harry says.

"Course there is," Louis says easily as he sets up a new board for him and Zayn. "Questioning the existence of the rulebook is also grounds for disqualification, by the way."

"Right," Harry says. He feels his lips twitch despite his anxious mood.

Niall hands him another piece of chocolate and says, "Hey, are you and your boyfriend getting back together?"

The scritch of marker against whiteboard stops as Louis freezes in the middle of his 'X'.

"No," Harry says.

Louis whirls around to face him, mouth dropping open.

"What? No? Just like that?" Niall says, seeming surprised.

"I mean, I don't think so," Harry says. He glances down at his hands.

"Oh, shit, did he say that he didn't want to?" Zayn says, dropping his marker onto the whiteboard. "Look, I know I was a knob earlier, but that fucking sucks, Hazza."

"No, he didn't say that," Louis says. There's a controlled tension in his voice.

"How do you know?" Zayn asks.

"Louis' right, _he_ didn't say that," Harry cuts in. He looks at Louis meaningfully. "But I don't think we will. Even though — I mean, at first, I thought just staying away from him would be enough to make things right. He likes girls, too. So if he found a girl to love instead — or stayed with the girl he was with — and then everything would just be okay."

Louis' eyes widen and Harry can sense his indignation rising. Before he can say anything, Harry hurries to say, "Look, I know I sound like a prat right now and that's not even how sexuality works, but I thought—"

"Thought _what_?" Louis demands, voice coming out choked. "That you'd just make the choice for him, then?"

"Yes," Harry says. He runs a hand through his hair. "Of course I did. That's why I'm here, isn't it? To make things right."

"And that's your definition of right?"

"I thought so, but I—" Harry shakes his head. "I don't think it's going to be that simple, anymore."

For a long moment, Louis just glares back at him.

"Um, maybe we should talk about this another time?" Harry says, looking meaningfully around at the other boys.

"No, you can explain now," Louis says, voice hard.

"Mate, why are you so worked up over it?" Zayn asks.

"Because Haz here says this boy's the love of his life and then says he's not interested in being with him anymore."

"That's not it — it's just not that simple, Lou."

"Why do you keep saying that it's not simple?" Louis demands.

"Because it's happening anyways!" Harry bursts out.

A moment of silence follows.

Finally, Liam ventures, "What's happening, Harry?"

"All of it. It's happening anyways, and so much earlier. I've already made things worse."

"How?" Louis demands. "All that you told me yesterday hasn't happened yet." 

"Did you miss where I said that that was just the beginning, then?" Harry asks, clenching his hands at his sides. "Did you miss when I told you that it _destroyed_ him by the end?"

"Look, if he was so weak to be —"

"Louis, you can't just say that!" Liam leaps up as if to intercept a physical fight.

Harry boggles at Liam for a moment and then turns back to Louis and says, softly but firmly, "He wasn't weak. He was never, ever _weak_. He was — god, no one could sit here for years and not break in the end."

"Sit where?"

"Here," Harry gestures around them. "This building. These conference rooms."

"What about them? Did they keep him prisoner here or summat? Chained to the office chairs? Because I'm fairly certain they wheel away."

Harry narrows his eyes.

"Maybe Harry's right," Liam tries. "Maybe this isn't the right time."

But Harry just keeps looking at Louis. Then he finally says, "You know what media training is, right, Lou? Where they give us our talking points and tell us how to use social media?"

"Yes, hard to believe, but I've shown up a time or two," Louis says dryly.

"It's also about teaching you to deflect or play dumb or change the subject to make interviews go the way you want them to," Harry says.

"Sure, we've had a bit of that," Zayn says conciliatorily. "How's that related to your boyfriend, though?"

"And it's about controlling your public image," Harry says. "You go over your tapes from practice interviews and actual appearances so you can see how stupid you look when you make a certain expression or that you need to sit up straighter or that you're saying 'um' too much or, like, that you really need to stop eating bananas in public."

"What's wrong with eating bananas?" Niall asks with a laugh.

"Those sessions suck and it's embarrassing but probably necessary, yeah?" Harry continues. "It's bad for the public image of a boyband if you just go on talk shows and embarrass yourself in front of millions of people."

"Hazza," Louis says tiredly. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"You know what's also important to public image of a boyband, Louis?" Harry continues in an even tone. "Being heterosexual."

There's a moment of silence. Liam looks at him in horror and then drops down next to him on the sofa, grabbing his shoulder in one hand. "Harry, what did they do to you?"

"No, not me," Harry says with a sad smile. "People look at me and think, there's a boy who looks like he sleeps with at least, say, four hundred women a year, remember?" He looks carefully at Louis and says, "Not me. _My boyfriend_. People look at _him_ and they think something very different."

Louis' expression hardens.

"Wait, your boyfriend's in a boyband, too?" Niall asks.

"Do you really want me to keep talking?" Harry asks Louis.

"You don't have to," Liam cuts in worriedly.

But Louis says, voice steady, "Yes. Keep talking."

Harry takes a deep breath and Louis sits down on the coffee table in front of him. Zayn takes a seat on his other side.

"Look, people see _him_ and they think very different things, okay?" Harry says. "Things you wouldn't want them to think about a straight, well-behaved boyband member. Definitely not one who has a particularly close, public friendship with another member of that band."

"Holy shit," Niall says.

Harry doesn't answer that, just keeps maintaining eye contact with Louis. He feels Liam's hand tighten on his shoulder.

"So, his team. They think he needs extra sessions to help with that. Like, to learn how to hold his wrist straight, how to not sway his hips when he walks. That kind of thing. How to act less _camp_ , less _flamboyant_. And do you know what he does?"

"I hope he tells them t'fuck the hell off," Louis says.

Harry can't help smiling a bit as he says, "Yeah. He tells them to fuck off." He thinks back, actually feeling a little nostalgic as he adds, "He actually goes on Chatty Man and tells Alan Carr that he can do camp better than him."

"I think I like this guy," Zayn says with a laugh.

"Yes. You do," Harry tells him. "You like him a lot." Then he looks back at Louis. "That's the first year, right when our album's released, and our management is not so impressed. So they keep scheduling times to work with him. But he keeps skiving. Then you know what he does the second year?" Louis raises his eyebrows at him. "An interviewer asks all of us for one word to describe ourselves. And my boyfriend." Harry shakes his head wistfully. "He looks right at our rep there behind the camera crew, he leans into the microphone and he says ' _Flamboyant_ '."

"I do like him," Zayn says, laughing again. "But why is our management working with him, too?"

"Zayn—" Niall cuts in cautiously.

"After that," Harry continues without answering. "They tell him if he doesn't play along and come to the sessions they schedule for him, they'll have to focus on making his _boyfriend_ look more straight."

There's a flash of understanding in Louis' eyes, then he says, softly, "So he goes."

"He goes," Harry affirms.

He glances around at the room at the other boys watching them. Niall is starting to look pretty concerned, Liam is looking like he finally understands what's going on here, but Zayn is somehow still looking confused.

Harry exhales and continues, "Look, media training is a normal thing, remember? It's necessary. All of us have individual sessions sometimes since we all have different things to work on. I mean, Niall has to work on being intelligible to anyone who isn't Irish. Zayn works on looking more approachable." Harry shrugs at him. "I work on not eating bananas in public." He shrugs and glances at Liam, who's still sitting next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Harry offers him a small smile. "And Liam here works on covering for the rest of us when we all screw up."

No one says anything to that.

"What—" Louis says finally, voice rough. "What do I work on?"

"Up until then?" Harry asks. "Mostly on how to resist a sarcastic reply once in a while."

He looks down at his lap then, twisting his fingers.

"You and me," he continues. "We had some sessions together, starting that second year. I mean, matter how straight or not each of us would look when we were alone, any time we were in a room together, we'd look pretty gay. I mean, after over a year of being together, and living together and spending almost every day together, we were really close and it was obvious."

Louis tilts his head at him.

"Wait," Zayn interrupts. "Are you saying that — Louis. Is he saying that his boyfriend was _you_? What the hell, mate?"

Harry just ignores him and continues, "Look, it's not like we didn't try to look like just mates. Especially when things with the band started to get even more serious. But we'd still do things without even realizing it that was so obvious to other people. And that was bad for business, yeah? So they started helping us work on that."

"Helping," Louis says flatly.

"Yeah. But we were still kind of terrible at it," Harry says. "So in the end, they just had it so we wouldn't stand next to each other in public. Or talk to each other. Or interact at all, really."

"What?" Liam says, looking taken aback. "That sounds quite extreme."

"Well," Harry smiles bittersweetly. "Loads of money at stake when you're set to become bigger than the Beatles. And if we weren't willing, well, we'd signed some pretty restrictive image clauses in our contracts. So."

He looks back at Louis.

"It was awkward at first, absolutely. You'd reach out for me and have to pull your hand back at the last second, or I'd get distracted and stare at you. And, like, trying to avoid touching or running into someone when you're also trying not to look at them is kind of hard." He shrugs. "But then we'd watch footage and see where we'd screwed up and then we'd try again." He gives Louis a wry smile. "It took a long time, but eventually we were aces at it, really."

"Fuck, so that's why—" Niall starts.

But Harry continues so he doesn't get side-tracked. He doesn't look away from Louis' intense blue eyes when he says, "Look, it also didn't hurt when they sent tweets from your account saying that the thought of you and me being together was bullshit. And when they planted articles in the papers saying that we weren't friends anymore because people would think we were gay. So, eventually, we had half the world convinced that we hated each other, and most of them also convinced that you were a homophobic arsehole." Harry shakes his head sadly. "And, in the end, yeah, we were bigger than the Beatles, we could sell out stadiums all over the world just like that, and we were rich as fuck. So, success, I guess?"

"Jesus Christ," Liam says.

Harry looks down and continues softly, "Lou, I think the sessions they did with just you alone were similar. But, instead, working on, like, mannerisms and body language and how you talked — I don't even really know. I didn't even know you were going until a lot later."

He glances up again, meeting Louis' sad eyes.

"So, there was this one night. It was a long time from now and it was rare by then that we'd be home in London together at the same time. But we were that night. And we'd been coming home from — I don't even remember where. But we walked in the door together and then you sat down in the middle of the sofa. Then without looking at you, I sat down on the end, as far from you as I could do. And without looking at me, you scooted over to the opposite end."

"Okay?" Louis says, a confused crease between his eyebrows.

"So, like, there we were, sat on opposite ends of our own sofa, in our own living room, in our own house, alone, just the two of us," Harry says. "And then we both turned and looked at each other. And I could see the moment you realized what we'd just done."

Louis stares at him.

"This was, like, maybe a month after the first gay couple had been married in England. So that night on the sofa was just a few weeks after I'd bought you a ring, Lou," Harry says. "We were so much in fucking love with each other. We weren't angry or arguing or drifting apart or even just needing a little space for the night. That wasn't _choice_ that had us sat on opposite ends of that sofa. That wasn't a _decision_. That was _training_." 

Louis hasn't broken eye contact but Harry can see the wet sheen of his eyes, the way he's blinking just a little bit too fast.

"It was so fucked up," Harry says. "So fucked up."

He hears the hitch of a breath beside him and finds Niall with wet, red-rimmed eyes. Zayn and Liam are looking at an utter loss.

Harry takes a deep breath. "But, yeah. You know what I did? I started waving rainbow flags on-stage. I wore the jersey onstage for the first gay American football player. Lou, I even convinced you to wear a rainbow t-shirt once." He shakes his head. "And then I did an interview, just me and Liam. And they asked us what we looked for in a lady. And he said, 'female' and I said, 'not so important'." He glances around at the other boys. "Do you remember? I think I told you guys about that one."

"Yeah, you did," Liam says quietly.

Louis reaches out and places his hand over Harry's knee.

"Remember I said they planted stories about us in the papers afterwards?" Harry says. "Like, not very nice stories, right?"

Louis nods.

"That wasn't all though that was in the papers, though," Harry says. "Someone wrote an article to praise you and me for supporting gay rights."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Liam says.

"Yeah no," Harry says with an unhappy laugh. "Maybe if our team hadn't put so much effort into having five marketable straight boys in the band. Maybe if their — our — empire wasn't built on that. Maybe if we weren't booking stadiums in countries where just being homosexual is still literally illegal."

"The fuck?" Zayn says.

"So, yeah, our management wasn't happy. With all that I was doing to act as gay as fucking possible, they wanted Louis to write a tweet making it clear that he was straight. So what did he do?"

"Told them to go fuck themselves," Louis answers, voice tight.

Harry wipes his eyes against the sting of tears.

"No. You didn't tell them to fuck off this time," he says. "You didn't tell them to just do it themselves because it's not like you could've stopped them anyways. You didn't even argue at all."

"So, what, then?"

"You just wrote it," Harry says quietly. "And, in, like, a really dickish way, too."

"So you're saying I became a fucking dickhead, then." Louis tries to pull his hand off Harry's knee, but Harry grabs it, squeezes his hand tight.

" _No_ ," Harry says. "You didn't. That might have been better. Or easier, at least. But you were still that same beautiful boy who had told our management to fuck off. You were still the same boy who called yourself flamboyant in front of the whole world. You _knew_ there was nothing wrong with not being straight. You knew there wasn't _anything_ wrong with loving me. You knew _all_ that."

"Then why—"

"Because, remember us, on the sofa that night?"

"Yes—"

"That was you, in your own head, every single day." Harry's throat feels thick. "You knew there was nothing wrong with you but you'd learnt to hate yourself for it anyways."

Harry hears a choked off sob, but he doesn't look away from Louis, just squeezes his hand tighter.

"Louis, you went to bed that night knowing that when you woke up, it would be with half the world thinking, once again, that you were a homophobic arsehole. And you believed you deserved that. Because if you could have just been a little less _gay_ none of that would have happened."

Louis shakes his head. "That doesn't even make sense, Harry. I loved _you_. I put on that shirt. I—"

"It wasn't logical, Lou. It was _training_."

"Harry—"

"You hated yourself for writing that tweet but you also hated yourself for not being straight. There was no way for you to win anymore. The game was lost a long time ago."

There's a long silence, and then the sound of a door opening, and a female voice. Harry feels Liam's hand lift off his shoulder, hears footsteps and more voices. But Louis doesn't look away from him, just keeps looking at him with beseeching blue eyes.

Finally, he hears Liam's voice saying that they'll cover for them, they'll be just outside. And then the click of a door closing, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the room.

Harry wipes his eyes with his free hand and squeezes Louis' hand with the other.

"So much else happened," Harry says eventually. "So much else. And it wasn't all bad, I promise. Some of it was, but not all of it. Not even _most_ of it. Lou, I'm not even saying that in the end that you weren't happy, or at least that you couldn't be again someday. But when a random girl on a random New York street asked me if I wanted to travel back in time eight years, I didn't hesitate. Because I loved a boy who had given _so much_ just to love me."

Louis blinks up at him and Harry finally releases his hand. He stands up and paces across the room to the whiteboard. He fiddles with the ledge of it between his fingers.

Then finally he takes a deep breath and says, "That next morning I woke up beside to this beautiful boy, who I hadn't seen in person for years." He bites his lip. "And one of the first things I noticed is that his mic was turned off. So I gave him mine."

Harry shakes his head. "And he wasn't just beautiful, he was a beautiful singer. And this time around everyone else got to hear that, too."

He hears Louis' footsteps and when they stop, close to him.

"But then a few days later, in this office, in these hallways, I overheard people talking about him. About how they had turned his mic down. And you know why they had turned it down? Because he looked _gay_. He'd been put into a brand-new boyband, you see. And you can't have gay boys in boybands, right?"

"Harry," Louis starts. Harry feels his fingers brush over his back.

"You know the day I came back? It was the day I'd kissed you for the first time," Harry says. 

"It was?" Louis asks, sounding startled.

Harry nods. "I thought it might have been a sign. Like, I'd waited too long to let you go in the future, but maybe this time I could do it right from the start."

"And you think doing it right would have been never being together at all, then," Louis says numbly.

Harry turns around, shaking his head sadly. "I'm so sorry, Lou. I'm sorry, but it's not — it wasn't me."

Louis' so close, looking back at him at eye level in a way they hadn't been for years in the future.

"I couldn't change it for you because being with me wasn't what started it all. It was so much earlier," he says softly.

"I know," Louis says.

"You don't know," Harry insists. He swipes at his eyes. "They turned down your mic for a reason and I gave you mine instead. And now the attention's focused on you and they think they have to do damage control. And everything's happening differently and out of order. They're doing normal things, like giving you a trendy haircut and promoting you on twitter. But they've also been stopping you from wearing clothes you picked out yourself because they were too _flamboyant_. And did they tell you to be less obnoxious on the video diaries, or was the word they used _camp_? And that newspaper article you showed me last weekend, Lou? Did you even notice how they put the word 'girlfriend' next to your name in every other sentence?"

"Harry," Louis says.

"You can't argue with me, Lou," Harry cuts him off. "You're more popular now and people are noticing you and you deserve that so much. But—" He looks pointedly down at Louis' dark blue jeans. "—But you also had on red trousers before we left this morning."

"I'm not arguing, Hazza," Louis says. But his eyes are soft, fond, even, as he takes him in.

"Then why are you still looking at me like that?" Harry demands. "I came back to help you and all I've done is make things worse."

"Have you really, though?" Louis says. "Haz, look, what did I tell you when you were sad that night, thinking that I was going to hate you?"

Harry stares at him, silently pleading him not to do this.

"I told you that I would've thought it was worth it," Louis says.

"Don't—" Harry starts. He can't handle this.

"And I said that I was the luckiest lad in the world to be loved by you." Louis reaches over and cups Harry's cheek in his hand, giving him a small smile. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"But you didn't know that was you, Louis."

"No, I didn't know that," Louis says. He strokes his thumb over Harry's jaw. "But, god, Harry, I am so, so happy it is."

"You can't say that," Harry says, shaking his head forcefully. "You can't say you still think that. Not after everything I've told you. Not when you had no idea about any of this. You can't."

"I can," Louis insists. "Because you know what?"

He leans in close, as if telling Harry a secret.

"I always knew why Simon switched off my mic."

 

 

Eight years ago: The X-Terrogator - ["...who's the flirtiest in the house?"](https://youtu.be/69XNmeeMN_g?t=106)


	12. Chapter 12

"Harry?"

Harry glances up. And then follows Liam's pointed look at the display Harry's standing in front of and — right, that's Susan Boyle's album. Not The X Factor UK charity single that they're supposed to be promoting right now.

He shuffles over to join Liam's side at the Hope for Heroes display. He steals a quick glance up at the register where Louis and Matt are still taking selfies at the cash desk.

Harry still doesn't know what Louis meant about knowing about Simon and his microphone. One of the Syco PAs had forcibly extracted them from the conference room and bundled them into one of the vans along with the rest of the boys to come to this signing.

Throughout the short drive over, Liam had been subdued, Zayn had kept glancing between Harry and Louis in concern, and Niall had looked like he was going to burst into tears again at any moment. Louis had looked the least affected of any of them. He'd alternated between giving Katie encouraging assurances as she went on about how anxious she was about her songs, and soft smiles and reassuring looks with Harry.

Which was... not how Harry would've expected him to be reacting. He's usually a lot better at reading Louis than he is right now.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry turns back to Liam and says, "Er, yeah. Sorry."

Liam looks like he wants to say more, but also like he doesn't know what that would be, anyways. And then the camera crew is gesturing at the two of them to go to the register.

 

 

"Of course we'd love to come back here to buy our own single someday," Louis tells their interviewers on the pavement outside the HMV. "But we're really excited tonight to just be here with everyone to do something good for Hope for Heroes."

"It's a really important cause," Harry says to the camera. There are fans screaming from where they're loosely cordoned off just behind them. "Um, to benefit..."

"Injured veterans," Louis finishes for him, probably correctly presuming that Harry's forgot.

Harry glances over at him and Louis just gives him a small smile while Liam takes the next question.

"Yes, we're really stunned by the reaction our performance has had," Liam is saying. "We're really grateful to our fans for keeping us here in the competition for another week and we're working really hard on our songs for this weekend."

"We're very excited that we've made the tour." Niall answers the next question with an uncharacteristic lack of anything vaguely resembling excitement in his voice.

To the follow-up question, Zayn says, "Of course. No matter what happens, we're definitely staying together after The X Factor."

Their interviewer smiles around at all of them. "All right, so I know that our viewers are all wanting to know if the rumors are true... Are you all really single now?"

They all glance at each other. Liam finally leans in and says, "Yes" to the microphone.

"They will be very happy to hear that I'm sure," she says.

From the other side of the security line, the girls start cheering and the interviewer laughs.

"Since you're all currently looking, perhaps you could each tell us what's one quality you're looking for in a girl. Let's start with you." She smiles again and hold her microphone out in front of Louis.

Harry catches the quick flick of Louis' eyes over to him and then back to the interviewer. He feels like he's going to be sick. But he can't think of anything to do to stop this, and Louis is opening his mouth to speak and — 

"A spider!" Zayn yells. "Right there! Oh, no, it's coming over here, it's huge—" Zayn tries to leap back but he stumbles into Louis and then sends them both sprawling over the pavement. Then Niall's screaming and running backwards without looking into the crowd of girls behind him and Harry can't _see_ a spider, but if Zayn's scared then — 

 

 

Once they're finally back at the house, Harry collapses on the sofa and opens the latest text from his sister.

'A spider! Right there! Oh, no, it's coming over here—' shrieks from the tinny speakers of his phone. Harry quickly taps to stop it. Then he squints down at the title of the video—'Fans save One Direction from Spider Attack!'—and sighs.

With how the link she'd sent over was accompanied by too many laughing emojis to count, he should really have known better than to open it.

"What's that?" Liam asks as he walks in from the kitchen. He flicks on the light switch as he passes, and hands an ice pack to Niall, who holds it up against one swollen eye.

"Apparently we're going viral," Harry says.

"Oh yeah?" Louis follows Liam into the lounge and drops a handful of plasters on the table. He plops down on Harry's lap and sets work on peeling off the one currently on his forehead.

"Did that bleed through already?" Harry reaches up to feel but Louis stops him with gentle fingers over his wrist.

"Might've," Louis says, lips curving into a wry smile. "I'll put a second on top this time."

"Maybe we should start coordinating our attempts at distraction," Liam notes. "This one had more casualties."

"You weren't complaining earlier," Zayn says. He snatches a few plasters from Louis' pile for the scrape on his knee where his jeans had ripped.

"No, earlier, I was too busy helping our fans kill yet another imaginary spider," Liam says. "I'm actually impressed they got any footage at all from how fast that cameraman ran away."

"I think this was taken by one of the fans," Harry says.

"At least someone was recording it for posterity," Louis says as he smoothes the new plasters over Harry's forehead. "And, look, you've probably already changed the future, Haz. Bet you didn't 'ave a scar exactly there before."

"No, I don't think I did," Harry says. He reaches up and brushes off some of the dirt still clinging to Louis' scarf. Louis wrinkles his nose and lifts the scarf over his head, tossing it aside. 

Niall shifts the ice-pack over to his other eye.

"All of Bradford's going to think I'm mental now, aren't they?" Zayn mutters. 

"At the very least, they'll think you've got a healthy fear of spiders," Louis says, amusement in his voice as he settles down more comfortably in Harry's lap. Harry steadies him with a hand over his hip.

Liam shifts over. "There's room for you here, Louis."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Payno, if you think I'm ever letting this one sit by himself on a sofa again, you're the one who's mental."

Everyone stills. 

The silence is broken just a moment later by an ice-pack plopping onto the floor.

"Fecking hell," Niall groans.

Zayn picks it up and hands it back to him. When he sits back down, he asks, stiffly, "Were you two ever going to tell us, then?"

Harry glances at Louis, then back at Zayn.

"I told you I wasn't going to out who it was before he said it was okay. You were the one who was angry with Liam when you thought he'd done that to me, remember?" Harry says. He tightens his grip over the jut of Louis' hipbone under his jeans and glances over at Liam. "I actually thought you had guessed, though, Li."

"I thought I had, too," Liam says. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, knocking loose a dead leaf. "But then Louis was being confusing about it."

"Indeed, that is what I live for," Louis says lightly.

"Did you really not trust us, then?" Zayn asks, a layer of hurt in his voice.

"No, Z, look," Louis says. "It was just a bit of fun. If Harry hadn't been so stingy with his clues, Niall would've figured it out days ago."

Niall lowers his ice pack to look at Louis through swollen eyelids.

"Louis, we all heard what Harry said today, though," Liam starts cautiously. "You just seem to be taking it all rather... well."

"Yeah, sure didn't sound like there was anything fun about it," Niall mutters, replacing his ice pack.

Louis shrugs, seemingly unaffected but Harry can feel a new tension in the lines of his body.

"Well, there was that part where this well fit lad 'ere comes back from the future, tells me I'm the love of his life," he says. "That part didn't seem so bad."

Harry stares at him.

"But what Harry told us there? That was some dark shit, though, man," Zayn says with a frown.

"Jesus," Louis finally snaps. "Of course I know it's massively fucked up. I just don't see why you're all acting like I'm supposed to say I'm surprised."

Louis looks around at the room with growing incredulity on his face.

"Zayn," Louis says when no one else speaks. "You do realize, don't you, that for every boy in school who called you a p—, there was one calling me a f—?" He looks around the other boys. "Lads, seriously, have you not seen me? The only surprising thing about this situation is the time travel."

"What?" Harry chokes out.

Louis turns to meet his eyes more gently. "Hazza—"

"No, Lou, what did you just _say_?"

Louis frowns at him.

"You never said that," Harry says.

"I never said _what_?" Louis asks. "So much of the way you've been telling this story hasn't been making sense."

Harry doesn't even know how to respond to that.

"For example, you said I didn't tell me mum I fancied lads because I was scared of what she'd think or summat? Haz, haven't you met her? I never thought she'd think less of me. She never would. But she already has too much to worry about with all me sisters, I'm not going to add to it, now, am I? And, sure, lots of people assumed, but I never told anyone at school because I rather liked me position on the footie team, thank you. And how was I even supposed t'say that, if I wanted to? I can't just say I'm gay, because I'm not."

Harry gapes at him. Louis' looking back at him, brow furrowed. Harry finally tries, "But you didn't think that — I mean, you didn't even realize you liked boys before."

"Before when?" Louis asks. "Before I spent the second half of Year Eleven exchanging handies with one of me mates?"

Harry can hardly comprehend that. He blurts out, "You told me I was your first blowjob."

There's a pause.

"I said handies?" Louis repeats, raising his eyebrows.

Harry hears then a startled snort from across the room.

"Right. Sorry," he says. He feels like the wind's been knocked out of him. He tightens his grip on Louis' hip. How is it possible that in five years together he hadn't known any of this. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"I don't know why he didn't, Haz."

"What about your mic? You could have told me about that, at least," Harry implores him.

"I just told you, I don't know why he didn't," Louis says tiredly.

"No, not him. You. Why didn't _you_ tell me about your mic?"

"Why didn't _you_ tell _me_ about it, then?" Louis retorts.

"What about Louis' mic?" Liam asks from beside Harry.

"Nothing," Louis mutters. He stands up from Harry's lap and Harry can't do anything but release his grip on him as he slips away.

"Fuck the microphone," Zayn says. "You can't actually be so unaffected by all this. What Harry told us today is on a whole new level."

"Of course it is. Never said that it wasn't," Louis says evenly. He reaches up as if to run his hand through his hair, only to find it's gelled stiff, and just lets his arms fall down to his sides. He takes a deep breath.

"Look, it's fucked up no matter how you put it, all right?" He rounds on them. "But it's still not a _surprise_. Not when it was Simon who kindly explained before we left Spain that they would be keeping the attention off me until I better fit the image of the band. Not when just this morning, between our second and third takes at the recording booth, one of those assistants — Pattie? You remember her? She's always round for the video diaries, isn't she? — she offered to work with me on some _mannerisms_ that could be taken the wrong way."

Harry feels like he's been punched in the chest.

"See," Louis says, fisting his hands at his sides. "I'd told them t'fuck off the first two times they asked but they'd wanted to check I hadn't changed my mind about their generous offer. So, yes, it's bloody well fucked up, I fucking know that. But I reckon I wasn't as _surprised_ to hear it as you lot think I should've been."

"What the — ?" Zayn starts.

"Louis." Liam moves to stand up.

Louis just shrugs them off. As he makes to leave the room, he calls back, "Don't worry, lads, this one time, I still had it in me to tell them t'fuck off."

 

 

Harry doesn't know how much time passes before he can breathe again, before his lungs have no longer been replaced by leaden weights.

The other boys are talking, loud and agitated, but Harry can't hear them. He pushes himself up off the sofa and stumbles out of the room, vaguely in the direction he thought he saw Louis disappear.

He looks around the kitchen blinking. The first aid kit's still open on the worktop, and that's all he can really register.

"Harry?" Rebecca says softly, placing her hand on his arm.

He looks up at her dumbly. Her eyes are kind, but maybe a little sad. 

"If you're looking for Louis, he's just outside," she says softly, nodding at the back door.

"Right," Harry says. He bites his lip. "Thanks."

It's cold outside, and dark. The porchlight barely penetrates the fog. But Louis is right there, leaning back against the edge of the veranda. He's still just in his jumper, hardly enough for the chill of the night. The porchlight shadows his face, his jaw, his bare collarbones. It glitters off his hair where it slants across his forehead and reflects in the light irises of his eyes as he looks back at Harry.

"Louis," Harry says. He can hear his voice breaking.

"You didn't have to follow me out here," Louis says. His breath comes out in cold puffs of air to join the London fog.

"Do you want me to leave?"

But Louis just looks at him for a long moment, then shakes his head silently.

"I'm so sorry," Harry says, voice thick.

"You have to stop apologizing for things that can't possibly be your fault," Louis says. "And it was thirteen."

Harry looks at him, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Thirteen what?" he asks finally.

"That article about me," Louis says. "The one I showed it to you last weekend. There was something about the way you'd looked when you were reading it, like there was more to it than what I'd seen. So I took a closer look."

"So, thirteen—"

"Thirteen times they managed to remind everyone that I liked girls," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "Impressive number, really, to squeeze into an article that didn't cover half a column."

"Yeah, that's," Harry says. He clears his throat. "More than I would have thought possible."

"Well, I counted 'ex-girlfriend' twice for each mention," he says. "Seeing as it implies both that I like girls _and_ that I'm likely also looking for one."

"Did you give the headline double points, too?"

"Who do you take me for, mate? That was bold type and all capitals. Triple points," Louis says.

"Right," Harry says.

"Also it was 'distracting' that Sandeep had said, you know. It wasn't 'obnoxious' or 'camp'," Louis continues. "I think I would know the difference, ta. Been called all those things more than a few times in me eighteen years."

"Okay," Harry says. He still feels like his heart is breaking as he ventures, "You, um, you've been called other things, too, though."

"I have," Louis says shortly. Then he continues. "And, yes, I did notice the clothing bit, why do you think I was so upset? Think we proved well enough last night that you and Rebecca are the only ones in this house who actually care about fashion."

"But you were upset about the haircut, too," Harry points out. "And you have to know that it—"

"Couldn't possibly make me look any more like a twink?" Louis says, raising his eyebrows. "That didn't entirely escape me, no. You weren't kidding about these people being a bit rubbish at this. Shocking, really, that they were able t'convince everyone that I was straight."

"Not everyone was convinced," Harry says.

"Mostly I was upset that me hair goes in so many directions now I can't even style it myself," Louis tells him.

"I can show you," Harry offers. He bites his lip. "But, um, it'll be easier when it grows out a bit."

Louis gives him a small smile in return. But then sighs and says, "There's nothing for you to protect me from, you know."

Harry wants to deny it, but he can't. It feels true, horribly true.

"Why wouldn't you have told me any of this?" he asks.

Louis looks off over the darkness of the garden.

"I don't know," he says finally. "If it were me — well, I suppose it was me — so I likely thought I was protecting my sixteen year old boy, yeah? That's what I would have wanted, more than anything. Keep him from ever knowing that the world outside his village could be like this."

He looks back at Harry, light eyes meeting his. "I still wish it wasn't too late for that, you know."

"Louis," Harry says, pained.

"Look," Louis says, leaning back on his elbows on the railing. "Just please at least say I told you my real feelings on baked beans."

Harry doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He hates and _loves_ this boy.

"I only made you eat baked beans twice a week," Harry tells him after a moment. "Once a week on tours."

"See, what've we got here, then?" Louis says. "Baked beans only twice a week, once on tours." He gestures towards the house. "A group of hapless but well-intentioned lads willing risk mortal peril just t'keep me from having to admit that what I like most in a girl is a Justin Bieber haircut."

" _That's_ what you were going to say?"

"And that lad I'd fancied ever since the moment I'd met him in that Manchester toilet?" he continues. "Says he's come back all the way from the future for me."

Harry watches him.

Louis meets his eyes steadily. "Everything you said already? I knew. You got that, yeah? I would've known it all last time, too, you know. So I know you and the others think I should be all broken up right now but, understand, Hazza, the only thing that's changed between yesterday and today is I didn't know the ending to the story. And you're here and we're going to make it a better one. Simon Cowell turned my mic all but off. But you gave me yours." He leans over and traces the pads of his fingers over Harry's cheek. Even though they're cold, they leave warmth in their wake. "You gave me your mic. Forgive me for thinking the world's not so bad."

Harry stares at him, mind churning.

Louis says, "Happy days, yeah?"

"Happy days," Harry repeats hesitantly. After a long moment of just looking back at each other in the cold, he says, "Lou, you do realize the moment we met was also the moment I weed on your trousers, don't you?"

"Oi, you're ruining the moment 'ere, love."

 

 

_Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating_

Louis starts the second verse. Zayn takes the next lines.

_And I'm wondering what you're dreaming, wondering if it's me you're seeing._

Then Louis again.

_Then I kiss your eyes and thank god we're together._

And Zayn.

 _And I just want to stay with you, in this moment forever_

_forever and ever, I —_

Harry jumps in with the howling at the end of the line to build into the chorus...

"No," Simon interrupts, snapping the music off. "It's missing something."

"What are you thinking?" Sandeep asks.

Simon has his arms crossed over his chest. He taps his chin thoughtfully. The camera crew moves around, zooms in closer to him.

Harry glances across the gymnasium. Brian's over on the other end, working with the backup dancers on the routine for Summer of '69. He's not needed over here with their current choreography for I Don't Want to Miss a Thing consisting of the five of them standing in front of microphones.

"Louis," Simon says.

Harry snaps his eyes back to Simon, tensing in anticipation of whatever he's going to say.

"We need more focus on you," Simon says. "Your fans need to connect to the emotion in the song, and you're the best here at creating that connection."

Harry catches Louis' quick glance at him. Harry's not sure what to make of Simon's words, but on the surface they're not quite wrong.

"Your fans will know you're singing this about a girl you're in love with," Simon says. "And they're all going to be want to be that girl."

There it is. Harry glances at the cameras, then at Louis, and sees his expression harden.

Simon turns to Sandeep.

"Instead of switching back and forth with Zayn, give Louis the full verses," Simon tells him.

Harry stares at him in confusion.

"All right, let's start again like that," Sandeep says.

"But Louis can't do Zayn's parts," Harry blurts out.

Simon turns to him, eyes narrowed.

"We can at least try it," Sandeep says, with a conciliatory gesture. "Louis, do you think you know the other lines well enough to give it a try for us now?"

"Sure," Louis says. He glances at Harry, then Zayn, then back to Sandeep and Simon. "Reckon Harry's right, though. I can't do the lines the way Zayn's been singing them."

"I have faith in you." Simon's smile would seem kind and encouraging if Harry didn't have an idea what lay behind it. He turns to Sandeep again. "Let's have Louis in the center of the group for this song. It doesn't make sense to highlight Harry here when he's really just in a supporting role."

Sandeep looks a bit confused but says, "All right. Harry, how about you and Louis change places."

Louis looks reluctant but Harry is happy to comply with that part of the plan, at least. He starts to adjust the microphone stand down for him as Louis comes to switch with him. There's a confused-cautious look in his eyes and even if they were free to talk right now, Harry doesn't think he'd have answers to the questions Louis would ask.

"What are you doing with the mic stand there, Hazza?"

"What?" Harry says, pausing in adjusting it downward. He glances at it then at Louis. "Just setting it up for you."

"How?" Louis says, a bit of a laugh in his voice. "That's about half a foot too low, there."

Harry glances at the microphone stand, then at Louis, then back at the microphone.

"Right," he says. "Because we're the same height. I forgot."

"What do you mean, you _forgot_?"

"Boys, if you're ready?" Simon says.

 

 

They try it.

Louis has the emotion down and he draws out some of the endings so roughly that Harry breaks formation to stare at him. But he doesn't have the breath control to belt the lines or the skill to do the fancier runs or the range to build to Harry's entrances. And so him leading more delicate verses into Harry's belted Steven Tyler impressions isn't working. If they had time, they could change the arrangement to make it work, maybe even make it work better than before. But they don't have the time and after a couple of run-throughs, Simon agrees to let Zayn back on accompanying Louis.

Harry wonders if this was Simon's plan all along, because he pulls Zayn aside in front of the cameras and puts his large hand on his shoulder.

"You're one of the most talented singers I've seen," Simon tells him. "Do you remember that day at bootcamp when I personally looked all over the studios to find you and get you back on that stage for the dancing? I've had faith in you from the beginning. You've really come into yourself during this competition and this is our chance to let everyone see you're more than just a human echo."

 

 

When Brian finally calls for a break from the choreography for Summer of '69, Konnie and one of the Xtra Factor camera crews drags Niall and Louis away across the gymnasium. Harry grabs a bottle of water, slumps down into a chair and just looks around tiredly.

Louis has been prodding Niall all morning, joking and teasing and literally poking him, and it looks like it's finally paying off because Harry catches him smiling for what is probably the first time that morning. It's a small, reluctant thing, and it's somewhat mitigated by his pair of black eyes, but it's a smile nonetheless.

Eight years ago, Harry and Niall had fallen in easily. They were the youngest, and Niall liked to laugh and Harry liked to laugh, and all it ever takes to make Niall happy is to laugh with him. 

All it ever takes to make him sad, though, is to know that someone isn't happy. And so Harry isn't at all surprised by Niall's reaction right now. It's not hard to imagine him devastated by learning that Louis, behind his mischievous energy and easy jokes, has been secretly suffering right in front of him.

On the other side of the gymnasium, Harry spots Danielle with her long brown curls and very short shorts approaching where Liam is sitting by himself. But Liam, who's been subdued all morning, barely even perks up at her attention.

Eight years ago, Harry had been intimidated by Liam. Intimidated and a little bit annoyed. He hadn't liked how Liam didn't take Harry as seriously as Harry thought he should've. And Harry hadn't liked how Liam didn't take Louis seriously, either. Sure, Liam had been on The X Factor before, but Harry and Louis were the only ones of the five of them who had ever been in a band before One Direction, so. And, well, while it rankled that Liam had mostly ignored Harry, Harry definitely hadn't liked how Liam had always acted cross with Louis.

There's a thump beside him and Harry glances up to see Zayn's taken a seat next to him. Zayn doesn't say anything, just bends down to re-tie his trainers. Harry twists off the cap of his water bottle and takes a drink.

Eight years ago, Harry had not been close with Zayn.

Sure, Zayn was funny. Sometimes he would say something that would make Harry laugh almost as hard as Harry would laugh when Louis said anything even sort of funny. But Louis always seemed to think Harry was funny, too, even at the times — well, especially at the times — when no one else, not even Niall, did. Zayn hadn't been like that.

And Zayn was quiet, but he wasn't quiet in the same way that Harry was sometimes quiet. Harry was quiet when there was a lot to think about. Zayn's quiet was a pricklier kind.

But what had set sixteen year old Harry Styles on edge around him was that when he wasn't being quiet, and when he wasn't being funny, Zayn was trying to be cool. 

Harry had been the youngest. He'd talked too slow and told jokes that weren't always funny and cried too easily. He cared a lot about music and about clothes, but not about exactly the right sorts of either.

Harry was also friendly and charming and not easy to resist. He'd always had loads of friends. But being popular and being cool were two different things. Harry had known that and he had suspected that Zayn, with how he never really sought Harry's company, had known that, too.

Harry had generally found that, if he tried hard enough, he could make new friends with almost anyone. But he never really got around to trying hard enough with Zayn. So their friendship was more about being in the same place at the same time and doing the same thing. More about caring about the same people than caring about each other.

At least, Harry had thought so. But then Zayn had left them all, harsh and abrupt and irrevocably. He'd expected it to hurt Louis. And Liam, and Niall. But he hadn't expected Zayn to take a piece of his own heart with him, too.

"Why did he call you a human echo?" Harry asks suddenly.

Zayn just shrugs. "Must've been before you... you know. Was just some stupid segment they did about me only doing those echoes things after everyone else sang."

Zayn doesn't say anything else, so Harry just turns his gaze back across the gymnasium.

Niall now has on a two-foot high white-blonde bouffant. Sandeep is beside him twirling the curls of a long brown wig between his fingers and pretending to snap chewing gum. Louis is standing between them, facing the camera with a stack of oversized quiz show cards and a very serious look on his face.

"You know, Niall used to keep saying that you and Louis would make a good couple," Zayn says.

Harry looks back at him.

"Liam and I would tell him to stop talking like that. Louis had a girlfriend and you were always flirting with the other girls here, and he was just going to make things weird."

"Right," Harry says. He's heard that story before, more than once, and it's usually followed closely by Niall yelling a smug 'I told you so' from across the bus.

"What you said yesterday? You were right," Zayn says as he stands up. "I do like Louis. I like him a lot."

"I know," Harry says. "I do, too."

Zayn walks away with a squeak of his trainers on the gymnasium floor.

 

 

That night The X Factor takes the contestants bowling.

Harry doesn't understand why exactly they do this. They don't appear to be promoting anything in particular. And he and the other boys aren't the only ones who are decided not in the mood. Tensions are running high this week with two songs to perfect in less than forty-eight hours and the knowledge that two of the contestants here tonight won't be in the house come Monday.

But, well, here they are. Except Wagner, who as usual is nowhere to be found.

Matt and Mary are sipping on beers. Rebecca's fussing over a fingernail broken off by her bowling ball. Katie is all nervous energy. And Cher is having a loud argument with someone on the other end of her phone.

Louis alternates between stealing Matt's beers, sitting in someone's lap or another, popping his hip as he walks up the lane and playing up funny voices, all while wearing the red trousers he'd sneaked on before jumping in the car.

Essentially, acting the same way he always does. Just with the added bit of stubbornness that comes from having a point to prove.

Even though his team is losing, Harry can only bring himself to make a half-hearted attempt to cheat. Instead, he just keeps glancing between the X Factor cameras and Louis' blatant disregard of them, acutely aware of the fact that Louis knows what every movement, every word out of his mouth costs him.

And keeps trying to comprehend that Louis knew the cost all along.

 

 

At sound check the next day, their Summer of '69 is perhaps less energetic than desired. But with Liam and Niall, who are their most consistent singers, on the verses and Harry leading the choruses, it's still solid. And, well, the backup dancers' routine is an enthusiastic enough distraction.

I Don't Want to Miss a Thing is... not so solid.

They'd only been about fifty-fifty in good practice sessions with it, but now that they're on-stage they've yet to have a good run-through.

Even the generally unfazed Sandeep is starting to look frustrated.

Harry runs a hand through his mess of hair and glances at Louis and Zayn at their microphone stands. Louis' getting more fidgety and Zayn's looking more and more withdrawn with every attempt. Harry just knows that their next run-through's going to be even worse.

It's Harry's own fault that he'd suggested this arrangement. He'd known how good Louis and Zayn could sound together on this song. But what he hadn't considered — what he _should_ have — was how inexperienced the two of them still are. 

They're not only their least consistent singers, but they're also both painful perfectionists who tend to pull back at the slightest indication that they're not getting it right. So putting the two of them alone together on the verses was maybe not the most stable arrangement for the song.

"I think we need more of Harry on this one," Sandeep tells Simon finally.

Harry knows that's probably true and has already resigned himself to it. But his own edges are frayed enough that he finds himself blurting out, "No."

When it becomes apparent that Harry is not elaborating on that, Sandeep sighs and says, "Look, Harry, we've all seen what you can do. You had those choruses down with barely any practice. You'll get us much closer to the sound of the original version, anyways."

"Of course I _could_ do it. That's not the point," Harry says stubbornly.

Sandeep looks taken aback.

Harry glares in Simon's direction. "If you wanted a solo act here, you shouldn't have rejected us at bootcamp. But you put us together and you can't take that back. And we've all got working microphones now, so—"

He startles at a hand clamping firmly down on his arm. He looks up to see it's Liam who's tugging him back, wide-eyed. He catches the other boys, all looking at him similarly shocked. Louis' jaw is dropped down and he's actually looking a little scared and — 

Fuck.

"Sorry," Harry says. He rubs his eyes. "Sorry. That's not what I meant to say."

"Well, I agree with you, anyways," Simon says.

Harry stares. That is... probably not a good thing. Especially when Harry isn't entirely sure what he himself just said.

Simon crosses his thick arms across his chest. "I put you together as a band for a reason. There are five of you here and Harry already has big enough parts in both our songs this week."

Eventually they settle on having Liam back Louis and Zayn up and finally end up with a satisfying run-through. Liam has the range and the skill and, unlike Harry, also has the versatility to harmonize without taking over the sound. If Harry had been thinking straight this week, he would have suggested it days ago.

 

 

It says something that, after sound check is through and it's just the five of them on their way to the chippy down the road, that no one asks Harry what that was about.

They're walking down the pavement in the shadow of Wembley Stadium when Louis says, "Still hard to believe we're supposed t'have played here."

"Was hard to believe even when we were doing it," Harry agrees, giving him a wry smile.

There's a moment of silence as they stand there in the shadow of the giant, silent stadium.

"I don't want to play here," Liam says softly.

Harry turns to him. "What?"

"I don't want to play Wembley," Liam repeats, voice a little louder this time. "This kind of thing has been my dream forever."

"I know, so why are you saying—" Harry starts.

"But it's not worth it. It's not worth the cost. I'm sorry." He shakes his head, hair falling limp over his forehead.

"Fucking hell," Louis snaps. "This is exactly why I _didn't_ want anyone to know."

"And that's not why I told you guys any of that," Harry says. He glances around at the other boys. "You should still want it. You should still want all of this."

"What the hell?" Niall demands.

Harry frowns at him.

"No, really, what the _actual fuck_." Niall fists his hands at his sides, the faded bruises around his eyes making him look all the angrier.

"Niall—" Harry starts.

"Did the two of you actually believe we'd think it was worth it?" Zayn asks, voice tense, sounding as hurt as he does angry.

"Look, we've just been dwelling on the bad parts. Lots of good things happen, too," Harry insists, looking around at them. "I'm not saying it's not hard sometimes, on all of us, but—"

"I'm sorry, mate, but I'm not sure you're the most reliable source here," Zayn says.

"What?" Harry asks, confused.

"I'm with Zayn here," Liam says. "It's like, I'm sorry, but I think maybe you're telling a different story than the one you think you are."

Harry stares at him, but Liam doesn't look away.

"Look," Harry says finally. "Obviously not everything was good and a lot of it wasn't easy. It's huge and stressful and a lot of work, but — look, a lot of what was really, truly wrong came down to me. And I can do better this time."

"I thought you'd finally understood that it _wasn't_ your fault, Hazza," Louis says, sounding exasperated.

"I know not _all_ of it was," Harry says. "Maybe I'm not the one who started it, but I made it worse and that part I can do differently. I mean, I was the reason we even had to go to such extreme lengths in the first place." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Lou, you know I'm the only reason you ever stopped telling Modest to fuck off. And why they made you and Liam act like homophobic arseholes. And the scandals they kept pushing onto you and Zayn were always to distract from me. I mean, we had holidays cut short more than once just to do extra PR to make up for things I did. It would have been so much better for everyone if I could've just been a little less gay—"

Harry catches his words in the reflections of the other boys before the words reach his own ears.

"I didn't mean that," Harry says.

"Hazza," Louis says and reaches out for him.

Harry shakes his head.

"I didn't," he insists. "Not the way it came out. I—"

"Can you see why it's hard to believe you're telling the story right?" Zayn asks.

_Jesus Christ._

"Fuck, okay. Yeah, I can see I — fuck." He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's that night on the sofa with Louis all over again. And all he can think now is how after he'd seen how horrified Louis had looked at him, he'd run to the toilet and been sick over and over and over again.

He takes a deep breath and finally opens his eyes again. This time when he meets Louis' eyes, though, Louis doesn't even look surprised, he just looks sad.

 

 

"The thing is, Gemma, I didn't just, like, wave gay pride flags."

"Okay?" her voice comes in through his phone.

"I did interviews talking about equality. I talked about it on-stage at almost every concert. I helped gay rights projects. I donated to charities. I even wore Gucci rainbow shoes."

"Your arguments were strong up until the shoes," Gemma says dryly. 

"Well, I wore them and _then_ donated them to a gay charity," Harry mutters. He kicks at a crack in the pavement.

"Why are you trying to convince me you're a paragon of gay rights, anyway, H?"

He sighs. Once he'd managed to convince the others to give him time alone, he'd wandered around the London streets for hours, strangely anonymous in his beanie and Jack Wills hoodie.

Now he's on the road, halfway between the station and the X Factor house, the sun's long set, and it's definitely getting chilly, but he doesn't know if he's ready to go back there.

He crosses one warm around himself for warmth while he holds his phone to his ear with the other hand.

"Gems, I didn't come out," he says finally.

"I know?"

"I mean, I think the whole world suspected, but I was still in the closet."

"Didn't you have contracts saying that you couldn't, though?" she asks. "Like, you're the contestant but the ones even _I_ had to sign for just The X Factor were still pretty intense. I can't really imagine what it'd be like for an international band."

"I mean... sort of?" he hedges. He stops walking under a streetlamp and leans back against it. "The band had been broken up for almost three years, though. Some of the image clauses hadn't expired but my new manager looked into it and thought he could negotiate around them. But there was also—"

"It was Louis," she interjects. "If you had come out, people would start to ask questions about him."

Harry doesn't say anything.

"You stayed in the closet for him."

"One of the last times I talked to him, like, when the band broke up, Louis told me I should come out. I knew he was just, like, trying to support me and I couldn't do that to him. And then Liam passed on the same message a couple more times over the years, that Louis was fine with it if I wanted to."

"But you didn't think he really was?" Gemma says. "I mean, you told me how much that conversion therapy bullshit fucked with him."

"It was media training," Harry says.

"I'll call it what I want," she sniffs.

"I don't even know," Harry says. "I mean, was it because I thought he was just saying it for me? Or because I wanted to protect him from people's reactions?" He takes a deep breath. "Or was it because it was 2018 and I was going on-stage telling fans how it was okay for them to be gay and that they were welcome and accepted and at the same time I was arranging beards for _myself_?"

He sighs.

"And why did I not even question that until just now, Gems? Like, no one was making me do PR stunts or surround myself with NDAs everywhere I went, not any more than anyone was making me stay in the closet. Why did those still seem like _normal_ things to do? And what if I didn't stay in the closet for Louis? What if it was just because years later, I'm as fucked up over this as he ever was?"

He hears Gemma take a deep breath.

"Haz, look," she says carefully. "It wouldn't have been to the year sevens at Holmes Chapel Comprehensive. Coming out for you would've been in front of the entire world. Does not being ready have to mean that you were fucked up?"

"I don't even know," Harry says. "I didn't even think about this properly until today. After I found myself telling the boys that all that shit we went through was my fault because I was too gay."

"Oh, Harry."

"I mean. God, I didn't even know I thought that. How many decisions have I made based on thinking that my being gay was the problem, was wrong, without even realizing I believed that?"

He shakes his head.

"And know what? It turns out Louis knew it all from the beginning. All that shitty stuff they did to him, like, because they didn't want anyone in the band looking gay? Simon told him at Judges House, Gem."

"This is all beyond fucked up, you realize that, don't you?"

"I know," he says. "But I think I — I underestimated him, didn't I? I didn't give him credit. He was so strong, is so strong. And when he chose me, he already had an idea what it was going to cost him. He still chose me and kept choosing me, over and over."

He takes a ragged breath and continues, "And, like, I've been trying so hard not to think about it. But these past few weeks, I just can't stop wondering."

"Wondering what?"

He clutches the phone tighter.

"That day, when we broke up? I told him that it was getting to be too much. That it wasn't worth the cost. And that we should, like, end things. I was hoping so much he was going to argue with me but he didn't. But he didn't say anything. He just agreed."

"Oh, Haz, but break-ups are always hard. You know you were in an impossible situation."

"I know, but — Louis argues with everything, like, every single ridiculous thing. But he didn't argue at all. The thing I've been trying to remember? Is exactly how I said it. If I made it clear that it was because of what they were doing to him, like, because things were too hard on him and I didn't want to put him through it anymore." He shakes his head, crouches into himself against the chill of the night. "Or if he thought I meant that it was too hard for me."

"Hazza," she starts.

He wipes at his tears.

"I loved him. I loved him _so much_ ," he says. "But what if I was wrong? I mean, he wrote so many songs for me. And he wrote one song saying that I was the thing that made him strong."

He chokes out a sob. "Gems, he knew what it was going to cost him, knew from the very beginning, but he still kissed me back," he tells her. "And, this time, he kissed me _first_."

He stares up at the dark sky, too foggy to see the stars.

"And Strong?" he says. "We sang that song in front of probably, like, a million people on that tour. We weren't even allowed to stand next to each other, or even, like, look at each other. But when his microphone was on, he was shouting it from the rooftops all around the world. Gems, I set him free but _what if the cage was never me_?"

"Harry," she interrupts loudly. "Stop."

He startles. "What?"

"You have to stop this," she says firmly.

"But there's so much I might've been wrong about," he says.

"And if this was still 2018 you could try to figure it out, couldn't you? Ring Louis up and ask him?" she says. "But that future doesn't exist anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," he says in a small voice. "I don't think it does."

"So you can't _do this_ to yourself," she says. "You're never going to have the answers to those questions."

He wipes his eyes, takes a ragged breath. Tries to pull himself to-fucking-gether.

"I'm cold," he tells her.

"I know," she says. "It's going to get better."

"No, I mean, I'm, like, actually cold," he says. Because he hadn't realized until now he was actually shivering.

"Hazza, have you been outside this whole time?" she demands. When he doesn't answer, she adds, indignantly, "It's below freezing here tonight. It's got to be even colder in London."

"I'm, like, on my way back to the house," he says.

"Where are you?" she demands. "Do you not see any taxis around? I'll order you one."

"No, I'm — it's not that far away," he says. He slowly staggers to his feet. "It'll be faster to keep walking."

"Okay," she says after a moment. "Keep me on the line so I know you don't freeze to death."

"I'm not going to freeze to death," he protests, even though he's still shivering a little. But it's not like teeth-chattering cold. The first few steps are hard, unbending his cold limbs. But he starts to warm up a little bit as he walks.

"Mum and Robin are coming tomorrow," she reminds him.

"Yeah," he says. His mother had texted to tell him earlier in the week that they'd be staying the weekend this time. He'd seen her, briefly, after the last few weeks' shows, but she and his future step-dad had been driving back the same night so hadn't had more than time for a hug and a good luck. Which had, maybe a bit selfishly, made it easier on him not having to pretend for too long.

"Are you finally going to tell her?" she asks.

He sighs. "She's not going to believe me. She's going to think I'm mad and she's just going to worry."

"Haz, if you could convince me, you could definitely convince her," she says. "Plus, I think right now, she thinks she's the one who's mad. Her little boy's singing like she's never heard him sing before and he's acting like a rockstar on the stage every week and he hasn't even been ringing her saying he's homesick at all."

Harry winces. He's been maybe avoiding phoning her, too.

"I'll think about it," he says. Then adds quietly. "Thanks for listening to me."

"Been listening to your whinging for sixteen years, Haz," she says. "Sure, it's Friday, could be down at the pub with my mates, but what's one more night of it?"

 

 

When he gets to the house, it's to quiet voices and the soft strumming of a guitar. But Louis and Niall both jump up when Harry closes the door behind him.

"You're back!" Niall exclaims, throwing his guitar to the side. "We were getting worried."

"I texted," Harry mumbles. "You shouldn't have waited up for me."

He meets Louis' cautious eyes.

"You look cold," he says. "You were gone a long time."

"I'm a little bit cold," Harry admits.

"I'll get you a cuppa," Louis says. Then pauses. "No, you need a hot shower. Then a cuppa."

"I'm cold, not hypothermic," Harry protests. "It's not even snowing out there yet."

Louis looks at him for a long moment.

Then Harry admits, "Could maybe use a hot shower, though."

 

 

He gets out of the shower and into an actual t-shirt and sweatsuit bottoms because he's still a bit cold. When he gets back to the room, he finds Louis in his bottom bunk, face lit up by what looks like Zayn's phone.

Louis hasn't slept in Harry's bunk with him since that night they'd talked on the veranda.

Louis looks up at him. "All right, Hazza?" he whispers into the dark.

"Can I join you?" Harry asks.

Louis gapes at him.

"It's okay," Harry backtracks. "Never mind, I—"

"Hazza, shut up," Louis says. He throws the duvet down and reaches over for Harry's arm. "Of course you can. Always. Come _here_."

Harry cautiously climbs in next to him. Louis immediately pulls him in close and pulls the cover up over them.

It's a tighter squeeze in this bed, not just because it's the bottom bunk, but because there is more than one pile of clothes crowding the bottom of it. Louis' bed was never meant to be habitable. It was the same in their flats, whenever they had to keep two bedrooms for show.

It's a tighter squeeze but they still fit. Harry snuggles in close, presses himself against the warmth of Louis' chest through his thin t-shirt.

"Actually wearing clothes t'bed, Hazza," Louis whispers, hands skimming over his waist. "What's the occasion?"

"It's winter," he says.

"Not yet," Louis says. "Still got those record snows you promised us. Not sure I'll truly believe you're from the future unless they happen."

They lie together for a moment, then Louis relaxes next to him.

Harry tightens his arms around him, presses his hands into the muscle of his back. Louis wraps his arms around him in return and Harry tucks his head into his shoulder.

He's still so confused, still doesn't know what to do, and it's still cold outside, they're still this close to the frost of winter. But Louis is solid and warm and smells like a summer day, like a fresh-cut football pitch, like the boy he's loved _forever_ and ever and ever.

 

 

"So, what's been the highlight of The X Factor for you?" Louis asks.

They're in one of the interview rooms at Fountain Studios and Louis has a stack of TalkTalk Q&A cards in his hands. he also, for some unknown reason, has a wig, a straight black bob cut, on his head.

"Um, I would say..." 

Cher answers, and then Mary, and then Louis directs the question to Liam.

"what's the highlight of your X Factor experience, Liam Payne?"

"Getting put together as One Direction at bootcamp," Liam says without a pause.

It's a stock talking point answer, the kind Harry has heard Liam deliver a thousand times over the years. The strange thing is, that even after everything this week, it still doesn't sound like a lie.

 

 

As soon as they leave the room, Harry's accosted in the hallway by two familiar people in far-too-familiar t-shirts. He tries not to cringe too obviously at the custom-imprinted 'We think Harry Styles has The X Factor'.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

"M'good, mum," Harry says when she releases him from her hug. 

She proceeds to hug the rest of the boys, and lingers especially long with her arms around Louis. Louis looks back at her fondly, as soft with Harry's mother as he's always been.

Louis, Harry realizes suddenly, hasn't seen his own mother in over a month, not since Harry's been back here.

"You look good, hon," she says. "I brought you that thing we talked about, but that can wait until later."

"You brought Louis a present?" Harry asks, interest piqued.

His mother laughs. "Don't be jealous. Just something he asked me for."

"Since when do you talk to Harry's mother?" Zayn asks Louis, looking a little taken aback.

"He probably talks to more than this one does," she says, squeezing Harry's cheek. Harry squawks indignantly as Robin laughs.

 

 

"You know, we haven't cut Harry's hair since the beginning," Richard is telling the camera.

Harry hadn't realized that but it... actually explains a lot.

"The curl is really entrenched, see? Loads of guys are coming in asking for Harry's cut," he continues, running his hands through Harry's hair. Harry has a hard time believing that's actually true. "We're just going to give it a bit of a trim today."

After Harry gets his hair washed, he's sent away until it dries. It's too curly to cut when it's wet and Katie is under the diffuser. So he heads to wardrobe instead and looks over the outfits for the night.

It's as he's skimming through the same rack of blazers that he's been picking his outfits from every week that he pauses. He glances around the room, cluttered with clothing and a few of the other contestants choosing their own costumes. What would happen if he chose something different to wear tonight? He could wear something from an entirely different lifetime. doesn't have to wear blazers. He could pick out skinny jeans and a t-shirt. He could choose the gaudiest shirt here and leave it half-unbuttoned. He could wear a floral suit — Well, perhaps not that. He doesn't see anything like that around. 

But. He's not the person he was in 2018 anymore than he's the person he was in 2010. And what if he doesn't have to act out the part he played before, either way? He's lived a dozen lives in the past eight years. What if this could be a whole new one?

What if he didn't go back and get the same haircut sixteen year old Harry would have got, but an entirely different one.

He still doesn't know the rules, still doesn't know what he's meant to be doing here. If anything things are less clear than they ever were, but — 

He runs his finger down the linen fabric of the blazer in his hands. He thinks about Niall's magi and thinks about empty birdcages and puppets and their puppeteers.

Thinks about Wembley and Madison Square Gardens and the Osaka Dome. Thinks about all the contracts that haven't been signed yet, all the lives that haven't been lived yet.

Thinks about Louis saying that Harry's been telling the story all wrong.

Thinks about Louis saying he would have thought Harry was worth it.

Thinks about how Louis knew the cost of that all along.

 

 

"What's happening with your hair here, mate?" Louis asks when Harry steps out the back door of Fountain Studios. Harry rolls his eyes upward as if he could see it himself.

"It's wet," Harry says.

"I can see that."

"Well, I am in the middle of a haircut, so."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Did you just abscond partway through, then? Can we expect security come to collect you any moment?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Should you even be out here with wet hair?"

"It's not that cold."

"It's snowing," Louis points out dryly. Harry looks around them and, yes, Louis is not wrong.

"Do you believe me now, then, about the time travel? Now that it's snowing?" Harry asks.

"You promised me a record cold winter, Hazza," Louis says, poking his shoulder. "Not a few flakes that aren't even sticking to the ground."

Harry nods. He watches the snowflakes drift down over the back lot, then turns back to Louis. He's leaning against the brick wall, in a hoodie and scarf and trackies, hair also half-styled and soft.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry asks him.

"What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Looking for you." 

"Why?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "Look, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing here in the past or how to make anything right and I'm obviously kind of fucked up. But..."

"But what?"

"I don't want to be magi."

"You don't want to be — what?"

"Magi. Or birds. Or those puppets — marionettes? Or anything else." Harry shrugs helplessly.

Louis just watches him for a quiet moment, then asks, "What are you saying?"

"I'm tired of just, like, letting things happen to me. To us," Harry says. "I'm tired of doing things just half-way."

"Time-traveling eight years into the past isn't exactly doing things halfway, now, is it?"

"Unless I was meant to go back sixteen."

There's a pause and then Louis laughs.

Harry grins back at him.

"Oi, don't get so full of yourself, Harold." Louis shakes his head. "That was not a good joke."

"You laughed," Harry points out.

"Wouldn't read too much into that."

"I won't," Harry promises. When they're both silent for a moment, just looking at each other, Harry says, "Do you remember, the night you kissed me in that hotel, Lou?"

The smile drops off his face. "I may have a vague memory of that."

"You told me that you thought we could be good together."

"Did I," Louis says. His expression is careful.

"You were right, you know," Harry says. He feels suddenly nervous, a heart pounding, skin clammy, about to dive off a cliff, about to play his first stadium kind of nervous. "We could be. We were. We are. We're really, _really_ good together, Lou."

Louis shifts to fully face him now. "We are," he repeats. It's not a question.

"All I ever want is to do the right thing for you," Harry tells him. "I want to be good for you. I want you to be happy. But... I don't want us to be magi."

"I still don't know what you're saying," he says.

Harry steps in closer. "Your sixteen year old boy, Lou, he loved you with everything he had." He presses a hand over Louis' chest, over his heart. "But he loved you selfishly. It's not his fault. He didn't know better. But, Louis, if you let me, I could love you so much better."

Louis is staring at him, mouth slightly parted, a shine of wetness in his wide eyes.

Harry clenches his fingers in the fabric of Louis' hoodie. "Look, I know the past now and you know the future. You heard everything that happened and I don't know how much I can even change. So you know what being with me could cost you. But it's your choice this time."

Louis just stares at him for another long moment. Then he draws himself up.

"I, er," Louis starts. He clears his throat. "I have a few questions first."

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Harry says earnestly. He drops his hand down from Louis' chest. "And you don't have to give me an answer now, Lou. Not today, or this month, or this year. I know this is, like, really a lot. And no matter how much I look like him, I'm not that sixteen year old boy that you would've fallen in love with. You don't have to ever say yes."

"Right," Louis says, licking his lips. "I got that. But I'm the one asking the questions here, love."

"Okay " Harry says.

Louis reaches out and tugs at his still wet hair. "These curls — are they still curly in the future?"

Harry's stares, stunned.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him. "The curls are not negotiable, Harold."

"Then yes," Harry says. He bursts out a laugh. "I mean—" His hair was getting curlier again now that he'd stopped cutting it so short, so it's true when he says, "Yes. Of course."

"And do you still have dimples in the future?"

"So they tell me," Harry smiles.

Louis pokes at one in his cheek and warns him, "No false advertising."

"I would never," Harry says, grinning harder.

"Fine. Now. How much taller are you?" Louis cross his arms over his chest. "Because you adjusted that mic quite far down that other day."

"Not too tall to still be the small spoon," Harry replies promptly.

Louis eyes him skeptically. "You'd probably say that no matter how big you were."

"I probably would," Harry says honestly.

Louis eyes him for a long moment. Then he holds up a finger. "One last question — and this is a very important one. You have to promise me you'll answer truthfully."

Harry nods seriously. "Okay."

"How is the sex?"

There's a pause, then Harry laughs.

"Well?"

"Good," Harry says, grinning. "It's good, okay?"

Louis eyes him skeptically. "Just 'good'? Because I have very high standards when it comes to lads from the future."

"I can give you references from the four hundred people I slept with last year—?"

"Oi, that's it," Louis steps back. "Quiz failed."

"Louis," Harry whines, grabbing for Louis' arm to stop him.

Louis doesn't resist, lets Harry pull him in close. He's smiling and his eyes are sparkling, blue like a summer sky and crinkly at the edges and — 

"Oh, good, there you two are." Liam peeks out the door. "Richard, the stylist? He's been looking for you, Harry. You might want to hurry, actually. He mentioned calling security come find you."


	13. Chapter 13

"What if we take more off here?" Harry points to the side of his head and watches his reflection do the same. "Like, with those choppy things?"

"Choppy things?" Richard repeats, raising an eyebrow.

So Harry points to the pair of scissors on the worktop.

"You mean, thinning scissors?" Richard says, picking up a pair.

"Yeah, but, the others, with the wider teeth?"

Richard shakes his head but he's smiling as he swaps out the scissors.

It's been a long time since Harry's been anything but the first, usually only, priority of his stylists. He doesn't want to be obnoxious about it but, though they haven't taken much off the length, he's confident just a few more snips will get him a bit closer to having a tamable head of hair.

As Richard starts in on Harry's hair again, Harry looks back up at the mirror. And sees Louis standing behind him, leaning against the wall.

His scarf is still wrapped around his neck and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Harry meets his eyes in his reflection and Louis gives him a small smile back.

There's a beep from across the room.

Richard says, "One moment, Harry."

As he walks away to where the timer on the diffuser chair where Rebecca's sitting has gone off, Louis comes to sit on the ledge of the worktop facing Harry.

"Hi," Harry says.

"Hi," Louis says back. His blue eyes are soft, taking him in. Harry licks his lips.

Louis darts his eyes across the room to Richard then back to Harry.

"So," Louis says. "I don't know if you realized this but we're about t'go into the show with three lads who don't even know if they want to sing anymore."

Harry had... sort of forgot about that part.

"And who would probably prefer to have a cry back at their mums' rather than step on-stage tonight," Louis continues.

"Shit."

"But I had a talk with them," Louis says. "Might've promised some things on your behalf. But they agreed to step it up."

"Okay."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I promised?"

Harry shrugs. He can't really imagine a world in which Louis would promise something he wasn't willing to give. "Whatever it took, it's fine."

"Could've promised them your first-born, you know."

"Well, if it's for a good cause..."

Louis kicks him in the shin then says, "Look, mate, still not confident we're not going t'fall flat on our arses out there, the mood they're in," he says. "Know anything we can do to motivate them?"

Harry looks at him. That's usually been Louis' specialty, even this early on, but if Louis is asking Harry, he must be in dire straits.

"Ah, sorry about that, Harry," Richard says, walking back to him. "Let's finish up. Louis, what are you doing back here?"

"Just saying hello to a mate," Louis tells him.

"Did you get your hair wet since I finished with you?" Richard frowns slightly at him. Louis' hair is still a bit damp at the edges, now that Harry's paying attention.

"It's snowing outside," Louis says.

"And is there a particular reason you were out in it?" Richard asks. Then he sighs as he takes a few more quick snips of Harry's hair. "Well, I suppose we still had to do some final touches for the show in any case. We'll collect you a few minutes early."

Louis hums and brushes his fingers against Harry's temple, fingering the beginning of a curl there. Harry tries to keep himself from leaning into the touch.

Richard pretends to snip at Louis' fingers, making him yelp indignantly as he yanks his hand away. Richard then swaps the scissors for a bottle of gel.

Harry holds up his hand and asks, "Actually, do you have any products with Moroccan oil?"

 

 

Harry has had a few minutes to think by the time he sees Louis and Zayn in the hallway. So he just tells them, "Tell the others to meet us in wardrobe."

Then, taking in the hollows under Zayn's eyes critically, he adds, "And have them bring all the energy drinks they can get from catering."

 

 

Now that Harry's finally thinking about it, he realizes that their songs don't have close to the energy or sparkle they should this week. They aren't difficult. The few technically challenging parts have gone to the ones of them who can handle them best. But they're not going to make them stand out. 

And, no matter what the boys end up doing, or how they end up doing it, they'll have a lot more opportunities to figure out their careers if they keep a strong position in this competition.

If Harry hadn't been so distracted this week, he would have realized that when there was still time to do something about their singing.

But there isn't. Even if they were in a better mental place, none of the others are experienced enough to handle significant changes at the last minute. Not when it's barely an hour before the show is going to start.

But there are, Harry thinks, other things they can do.

Harry might not be great at the technical aspects of singing, or at least explaining them in words other people can understand. Or at navigating the business of the music industry. But if there's one thing he know that he is, without a question, good at, it's performing.

Once they've all gathered in the otherwise empty wardrobe room, Harry takes in the three pairs of tired eyes and one pair of bright blue hopeful ones.

"Look, we need to make some changes," he tells the boys. Before any of them can speak, he holds up a hand. "Not to the singing. We're all going to go out and do our best — and your best is really good, guys, all of you. But we want everyone's attention tonight, and we want people to watch from home and talk about us tomorrow and keep us on social media."

"Isn't that what we're doing with singing?" Liam asks. Then looks a bit worried when he says, "Are you talking about choreography?"

"No," Harry says. Definitely not choreography. "There are other ways to keep people's eyes on you."

He gestures around the room.

"We're going to start with our clothing."

 

 

He heads over to where their outfits for the show are arranged on the racks. They'd been mostly picked out for them, with some say on their parts, and their outfits for Rock Week aren't much more than a pile of leather jackets and letterman jackets and relaxed-fit jeans.

Simon has made a big deal all along in front of the cameras about them picking their own clothes, not wearing slick matching outfits like typical boybands, making them look like five boys literally plucked from their schools to sing on this stage.

But part of the narrative of The X Factor is turning ordinary into extraordinary, and they're almost near the end of the series. Two weeks from today will be the final weekend. And they've been getting more and more guidance from the stylists every week now.

They already have thematic wardrobe for Summer of '69, an approximation of what their fans think American schoolboys look like. Letterman jackets, denim, blue jeans.

Changes they make to their second song of the night are going to count for more, anyways, and with so little time, Harry's going to start them there.

But even as he starts to give them instructions for what clothes to look for, he finds himself hesitating.

"Look," he says, looking around at them all. "I don't want us to go with matching boyband outfits all of a sudden. But clothing choice is tied in closely with our roles in the band, and we haven't really worked out how we want to manage those—"

"But we don't have time to work that out right now," Louis interjects.

"Exactly," Harry says.

"So we'll do what we need to now and figure the rest out later."

When no one argues, Harry gives them instructions on what clothes to look for.

 

 

"Dangerous, but with a soft edge," Harry says, thinking out loud as he pages through the rack in front of him, continuing his search for the blazer he was sure he'd seen here earlier. He adds, "I like classic rock as much as the next person. Probably a lot more than the next person. But that's not really the right aesthetic for tonight."

"What about these?" Niall holds up a pair of black jeans. Harry shakes his head. They won't be flattering on Niall at all. But then he says instead, "Wait, have Liam try those on."

He turns back to his own search.

"Like, our fans are teenage girls, yeah? The ones who are supposed to vote for us?" He pulls out a cream-colored jacket, wrinkles his nose and puts it back. "They don't think classic rockers are sexy. We need to look like those boys at their schools who are a little dangerous but who they have crushes on despite that." He frowns. "Or because of that. I don't know."

He pulls out a lightweight white blazer and — yes. This is the one. He looks up.

"Zayn, come here, try this one on," he says.

Zayn looks at him skeptically.

"Thought you said we were supposed to be look dangerous," Zayn says. "Could just wear the leather jacket I had, you know."

" _You're_ not allowed to look dangerous," Louis reminds him.

"But—"

"We're going more posh, high fashion for you. More intimidating then dangerous. Maybe you're like the aloof rich boy who's out of everyone's reach," Harry tells him as he puts the blazer in his hands. "I know, it's not proper high fashion, but I don't think we'll get closer with this selection in here. But, really, the stylists have just been lazy with telling you to just keep wearing leather jackets when you can make literally anything look good."

Zayn's already got on distressed dark jeans and a black top. And when he shrugs the blazer on and straightens it out — Harry nods and says, "Yeah, that's it. Perfect."

Well, it's not exactly perfect. That's a little bit of a lie. But it's not as if any of them are getting clothing custom-fitted any time soon and he hadn't been lying about Zayn's inhuman ability to make any article of outfit look like it belongs on the runway.

He glances over at Louis, surveys his band tee and black jeans.

"Those are perfect, too, Louis," he tells him. "Can you just rip some holes in those jeans?"

"On it," Louis says. "Nialler, get me them scissors over there, will you, mate?"

"Harry, I don't think we're allowed to—"

Liam sighs when he's interrupted by the sound of cloth ripping. Harry looks over at Liam and surveys his clothing so far.

"Li, you can take Zayn's leather jacket," he decides. "All black should be okay for you. Your haircut's more than enough to soften your look."

Liam doesn't look happy but he takes Zayn's jacket anyways.

"And, Lou, I know you're probably going to be cold but when we're on-stage, keep those sleeves pushed up a bit to show your tattoos, ok?" Harry calls over distractedly as he turns to sort through a pile of t-shirts.

There's silence in the room. Harry finds a soft dark gray t-shirt in what looks to be his own size and pulls it out of the pile. 

"Niall, how's that search for a black hoodie going? Did you find one small enough for you, yet?" he asks as he swaps out his own hoodie for the t-shirt.

"Hazza, did you just say _tattoos_?"

Harry glances over at Louis, confused for a moment, then his eyes fall to where Louis' sleeves are pushed up over bare skin.

"Right, I forgot," Harry says. "You can still keep the sleeves up like that, though. You have, like, really nice arms. Maybe just grab a few of those black bracelets Zayn found us."

Louis crosses his arms over his chest. "Can we just go back to the part where you just implied that I have tattoos in the future?"

"Well, not as many as Zayn or me," Harry says, frowning into the mirror as he tries to roll up his own sleeves. "But I guess that's not really saying much. You have more tattoos than Liam, though."

Louis gives him an indignant look as he takes Harry's t-shirt sleeve out of his hand and sets to work folding it up.

"We _all_ have tattoos, then?" Liam asks, sounding a little stunned.

"Everyone but Niall," Harry says distractedly as he hands Louis pins to fasten them in place.

"Oh, thank god," Niall mumbles from behind him.

"He's afraid of needles."

"You're afraid of needles, _too_?" Zayn demands.

Harry eyes himself in the mirror. His t-shirt would look better if he had biceps. But thanks to accidentally getting in workouts with Liam in the mornings and not actually being able to bring himself to eat like a sixteen year old boy all the time, his arms have a little more definition than they would've eight years ago.

It'll work, he decides. Now he just needs to find something to soften his own look.

"Well, there's absolutely no way _I_ would get a tattoo," Louis complains. "I don't even like them on _other_ people."

"Okay, sure." Harry gives him a consoling pat on the arm. And if he squeezes just a little because Louis _does_ have nice biceps, that's his own business.

 

 

By the time they have their new outfits chosen, they all look perked up a bit, even if it's only from the distraction.

"We look really different," Liam says, staring at them all in the mirror.

Harry nods, agreeing. They look a little bit older and their outfits are certainly better suited for them. It had helped that Harry had already known what cuts would flatter each of them and there was just enough selection to find sizes that fit them better than the baggy clothes they usually chose. It's enough of a difference that anyone who's following the show will notice.

"Did you tell us what to wear in the future, too?" Niall asks curiously.

Harry chokes out a laugh. "I mean, it wasn't for lack of trying. I had some brilliant ideas sometimes. But, no, you guys definitely wouldn't let me do that."

"Even me?" Louis asks, turning as he looks at himself in the mirror. "This doesn't seem so bad. These jeans make my arse look good, too."

"That's not saying anything when literally _everything_ makes your arse look good," Harry informs him. He gets more than one surprised look at that, though he doesn't understand why that fact would be surprising to anyone.

It is a nice outfit on Louis, though.

The long-sleeved band tee they'd settled on is a slim enough fit that it emphasizes his shoulders and the lean muscle of his torso, but then barely skims over the small swell of his belly. His black jeans sit low on his hips and are newly ripped and frayed over his knees. They're not skinny jeans, but they're still snug over the curve of his arse.

Harry finally notices the silence in the room and wonders how long he's been distracted.

He raises his eyes and catches the amused curve of Louis' lips.

"Er, I didn't think up this look for you," Harry says, clearing his throat. "You had outfits like this starting on one of our later tours—" He thinks back. "The third one, I think. Our team wanted to try more of a skater, punk look."

He doesn't say it, doesn't even intend to imply it, but Zayn's eyes narrow and he says, "So he would look more straight."

"That's—" Harry finds the words stuck in his throat. He can't deny it, not when he's sure it is partly true. But their stylists had been starting to make over all their looks into something a little edgier. And, by then, Louis had long been tired of all the buttons and stripes and braces, and had been happy for the change. None of their images would have worked if there hadn't been at least some small piece of their own personalities in them.

"You're not _wrong_ ," Harry says finally. "But that's only, like, part of it. And you know — that's not why _I_ chose it for him." He frowns at Zayn. "You do know that, right?"

He feels Louis' hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in.

"'Course he knows that," Louis says. His voice is light but there's a challenge in it as he turns to Zayn. "He chose this for me because I'm supposed to look like some poor gullible girl's skater boy crush."

"Fuck, I know that's why _Harry_ chose it, but." Zayn's mouth is turned down and he shakes his head. Liam and Niall are watching stiffly from either side of them. "I just meant — you know, this whole thing is so fucked. How do you even know what's real and what's okay and what isn't?"

Harry can't help but think that's a decent summation of parts of the past years of his life.

"Well, you promised t'stop thinking about that until you got off stage tonight, remember?" Louis says. He looks around at the others. "All of you did. And if this is something I've been able to live with for the last three months — and if you believe Harry, for _years_ — then you don't get t'fuck this up for all of us just because you can't compartmentalize for a few fucking _hours_."

Harry wraps an arm around his back, squeezes a little.

"You _do_ remember that conversation we had just now, don't you, lads?"

"I know, but—" Liam starts.

"No, look," Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know you're thinking that you don't know if you want to continue in this competition or not. And you're wrong. You do."

"Louis—" Zayn tries to interrupt.

"But either way," Louis continues firmly. "For tonight, for the next few hours, you're in this. We are going to go on-stage and, on this stage tonight, we are all going to be, one hundred percent, in this band."

And before Zayn or any of the others can say anything to that, they're summoned back to the stylists for the final touches on their hair and makeup.

 

 

An hour later, they're in one of the empty dressing rooms just off the backstage hallway. They're all in their Summer of '69 outfits, hair and make-up all ready. As usual lately, they're the last of the acts to go on. Katie is still singing Sex on Fire — they can hear her through the propped-open door — so they still have a few minutes.

"What is Summer of '69 about?" Harry asks around the table. The boys are a little less dour than they had been when they'd left wardrobe, but not anywhere near the energy they need to go on-stage. If they don't perk up soon, he might have to make them do calisthenics until they look more alive.

"What do you mean?" Liam asks. He takes another sip of the Red Bull Louis had shoved at him as soon as he'd sat down. 

"Like, the emotion of it. If you can make an audience feel something when they're watching you, they'll remember that. What is it about?"

"It's about the year 1969," Zayn says tiredly, twisting the Lucozade Energy bottle in his hands.

"Is it, though?" Harry says. "Or is it about a person? Or, like—"

"A sex position," Louis offers.

Harry frowns at him. Louis shrugs. Harry frowns a little harder. But then he glances around the room at the other boys. Even Niall's barely cracked a smile at Louis' joke.

Admittedly, it was a rather obvious offering, not up to Louis' usual standards.

But, well... 

"Look," Harry says. "Imagine you really like giving blowjobs and, like, take pride in being good at it. And then—"

Louis chokes on his drink and Liam thumps his back.

Zayn laughs a little, "I'm sorry, Harry, but did you actually just ask us to imagine that we liked giving blowjobs?"

Niall _does_ actually laugh now, spewing flakes of his half-chewed contraband chocolate bar over the table. He'd been explicitly warned not to eat chocolate before he goes on stage for, well, probably this very reason.

Harry nods. "But, see, in the 69 position, the angle's kind of off so you can't take it as deep as you'd normally like to. Also, it's hard to concentrate because someone else is sucking you off at the same time. But, like, he's also not at his best for the same reasons. Plus, maybe you aren't the most coordinated, so—"

Niall's cracking up now, along with Zayn, and Louis to his side is gaping at him. Liam's eyes are wide, a little bit alarmed.

"Er, Harry," Liam ventures. "Are you saying Summer of '69 is actually about a, er—"

"A sex position that, in my personal opinion, is a little overrated?" Harry asks. "Of course it's not. It's about a band and a childhood love and this person on their mama's porch and, like, nostalgia. You're looking back at this happy time but at the same time you know that you can't go back to it. But," he continues. "If thinking about blowjobs is what you need to act like you're having fun out there, then _please_ think about blowjobs."

Niall laughing so hard that Harry, even if he's feeling a little proud of his success, is starting to worry for the stage make-up covering the not-yet-faded bruises around his eyes.

Louis has his head buried in his arms on the table. Harry can't tell if he's laughing or crying or... possibly dying, actually.

"I, um, I think I might think about bands and love instead," Liam says. "I can't imagine ever thinking about those kinds of things whilst singing?"

"Each to his own." Harry shrugs. "But seeing as you and one Louis Tomlinson here—" He glances over at Louis, who is sitting up again, but biting his lip quite hard. "—Co-wrote a song about morning wood, I think it's fair to say you change your mind on that."

"What the hell?" Zayn laughs.

"Are you saying," Louis says slowly. "That there's a future where Payno and I write a song together _and_ that it's about waking up with a stiffy."

"What I'm saying," Harry looks around at all of them. "Is that there exists a future where I wake up, hear voices down the hall, and find Liam and Louis locked in the music room trying to find a rhyme for 'loaded gun'. Because," Harry continues over the laughter in the room, doing his best to keep from grinning. "A few hours earlier, Louis woke up, had a _brilliant_ idea for a song, and immediately texted Liam to demand his presence for an emergency writing session."

Niall and Zayn are laughing, Liam is flushed red and sounds like he's choking and Louis is staring at Harry, eyes bright and looking like this is the best thing he's heard, in possibly his entire life.

 

 

Right before they're about to go on, Harry suddenly remembers he'd forgot to enlist them in his last idea. He pulls them back and says quietly, "Look, at the end of the song, just hold hands and, like, raise them victoriously."

"What?" Liam asks.

"That's the third thing."

"That's the third — what?"

"On stage," the PA calls to them, waving her clipboard towards the stage entrance. "Now."

As they walk out into the spinning red and blue strobe lights, The X Factor theme whooshes from the speakers and Dermot says, "Next up is One Direction!"

 

 

"So," Dermot says when it's over. "How did it feel to sing a song about a year before you were born?"

The judges are all chuckling and the cheers of the crowd haven't quite died down yet.

Harry takes the opportunity to finally get to the point he'd tried to make earlier when they were derailed by blowjobs and says, "But is '69 a year, though?" It gets a little bit quieter. "Or is it, like, a place? Or a person? Or an emotion?"

There's silence for a moment, and then Dermot takes the microphone back.

"I do think 1969 is an actual year, Harry," Dermot says.

"We might never know," Harry says.

Liam pushes forwards to the microphone, nudging Harry away. "So, we really connected to this song because it was about being in a band and having fun and—"

"And it was about a porch," Louis says.

When Dermot asks Niall why he's laughing, Niall can't stop for long enough to answer.

"It was about nostalgia, too," Zayn adds instead after a moment. "Like, reliving a fun time. It actually made us a little sad."

Liam nods. "It did make us a little sad."

 

 

The Summer of '69 motivational talk hadn't gone quite the way Harry had expected, but they had at least seemed able to forget everything for a few minutes on-stage.

They had a quick backstage Xtra Factor interview, changing outfits, having their hair and stage makeup touched up and now they're waiting backstage again to go on for I Don't Want to Miss a Thing. 

Harry had tried to talk Zayn through the emotion of the lyrics on their way walking through the hallways. He has the skill but Harry is worried his delivery is going to fall flat. 

He'd claimed he couldn't imagine not wanting to sleep because he wanted to watch a girl sleep instead. And even after Harry had told him it was okay if he'd never had such intense feelings about a girl and suggested thinking about his mother instead, he's not sure that he gets it.

But, well, Harry is a performer, so if they need to take a different approach to get the fans' attention — 

"Louis," he says. Louis perks up, raising his head from where he'd been peeking over Niall's shoulder at something on his phone. "For this song, just look at me, okay?"

"Okay?"

"I mean, pretend you're singing to me," Harry says. "But also pretend you're not singing to me."

"What?"

But they're ushered on-stage again.

 

 

"Both your songs tonight were absolutely brilliant, boys," Louis Walsh says. "You've shown tremendous growth in this competition. I truly think you're the next big boy band."

The crowd's cheers increase in volume, but he holds up his hand.

"Just one question, though," he shifts to look at Simon at the other end of the Judges' Desk. "Their outfits tonight—"

"I told you, I let them dress themselves, Louis," Simon says, leaning back in his chair, tapping on the pen in his hands.

"But a headband?" Louis Walsh looks back up at the stage and then over at Simon again.

"Didn't I just say that I let them dress themselves?" Simon says. Harry catches the smirk on his face.

"Well," Dannii interrupts. "I agree you did quite well tonight, boys. It's obvious you've done a lot of work this week and that you've really stepped it up."

"That was so emotional," Cheryl says next, wiping under one eye. "I think I was actually tearing up there. I know I've said it before, but you do have such as lovely voice, Louis."

Louis Walsh turns around in his chair again. "Louis? What about Harry? Were you even listening to that up there?"

"They're all good. Every one of them," Simon says with raised eyebrows.

"I still can't believe you rejected all five of these boys at bootcamp, Simon," Cheryl says. Her tone sounds a little pointed but it's hard to tell over the cheering of the crowd.

"I always knew they had potential," Simon says. "That's why they're here today, isn't it?" He turns to the stage now and continues talking. "You're proving yourselves to be an excellent band. It's nice to also start to see more of you as individuals. Your individual voices, your personalities, who you are as performers—" He leans across the table and says pointedly to Louis Walsh, "And, yes, that includes clothing, too, _Louis_."

 

 

When the show is over and they've changed back into their normal clothes, Harry hugs his mother and Robin goodnight in the crowded backstage and then goes to look for the other boys.

He catches sight of Louis and their eyes meet through the jostle of contestants and families and staff. 

His eyes are soft, maybe even a little shy, in contrast to all the energy he's put out all evening. Harry knows, _knows_ , this look. And he feels his heart pounding, a thrum of anticipation in his body, as he thinks about the missed kiss from earlier.

Harry makes his way to his side and touches his arm. It's a light touch, barely there through the thick sleeve of his hoodie. But when they can hardly hold hands out here, it's enough to keep them together through the crowd.

They reach what looks like a dead-end corridor, which is not where Harry had thought he was going, especially since there are still plenty of people around. Louis just laughs quietly and directs Harry back around the corner to the same empty dressing room they and the boys had found earlier.

Louis nudges the door shut behind them, muffling the noise of the backstage, and then turns to Harry. Louis licks his lips, but still looks a little shy.

Harry touches his shoulders, gently guiding him back to the wall. Louis goes without any resistance and Harry steps close into his space. He can hear Louis' breath catch.

"Lou, I..."

Harry doesn't even know what he's trying to say, or ask. But Louis nods his head anyway.

Harry reaches up, strokes the pad of his thumb over Louis' lower lip. His lip is a bit dry, but soft. He meets his eyes again. There's a smudge of dark eyeliner still around them and they are so blue.

"Hazza," Louis whispers.

Harry lets his hand fall away as he leans in closer and says, "I'm going to kiss you, Lou."

But he must be too slow because Louis tugs him in by his hoodie and kisses him first. Harry's hands clench at Louis' waist. There's a desperation thrumming between them and he is helpless in the long-missed heat of his mouth.

He aches, but what he's aching for is this, exactly this.

The shrill ring of Louis' phone startles them both. Louis lets out a small laugh as he fishes the phone out of his pocket. Harry leans his forehead against Louis', catching his breath.

"Zayn wants to know where we are," Louis says. He looks back up at Harry, his cheeks a little flushed. "Ride's waiting for us."

"Wasn't it Zayn that interrupted our first kiss, too? At the hotel?"

Louis bites his lip. Then says, "That wouldn't have been our first kiss, though, would it?"

"Can have more than one, can't we?"

"Can we?" Louis asks. He looks down to Harry's lips and back up to meet his eyes again. His eyes are so blue, his pupils dark, he somehow still looks a little shy.

"Yeah," Harry says. "Couldn't this be first kiss, too?"

 

 

When they get back to the house, Harry learns what it was that Louis had promised the boys: that Harry will tell them the future.

And Harry is exhausted, emotionally strung out, and would do anything to sleep. Preferably in Louis' arms. And he knows not one of them would push him if he said that. Louis would probably lock them outside in the snow if they tried.

But he also knows that they're running out of time. Everything is happening so fast around them, decisions being made for them, about them. He knows that it's more than they're even aware of. And they're two weeks away from having to sign a contract that's going to determine their lives.

And so after they get to the house, after the other contestants have gone to bed, Harry finds himself with the boys in the lounge, in their pajamas, bundled in blankets and talking late into the dark of night.

It reminds Harry of those nights at Robin's bungalow, just months ago for these boys and years ago for him. They'd spent hours in their sleeping bags on the living room floor talking about their future. They'd been excited, anxious, nervous. Everything could have ended in just a couple of weeks at Judges Houses, or it could have stretched out further and further and further.

This time Harry knows the future and knows the end isn't anywhere in sight, unless they choose for it to be.

Harry still doesn't know how much of it he should tell them. Still isn't sure what he's told them already isn't breaking whatever rules there are to time travel. But no one's appeared yet to give him a rulebook. And Harry does have the chance to give the boys a real, informed choice. The kind they'd never had before.

So he tells them as much as he can.

He tells them how they got to make music. They got to perform. Even perform their own songs they'd written themselves. He tells them how the moments in the middle of Wembley Stadium were moments they got to have over and over and over again, in stadiums all across the world. Tells them about their first Brit award barely a year from now. How eventually, after award after award, it felt _normal_ to hear their names called from the stage.

Tells them about the money and the fame that comes with it. It's not everything, but it's not _nothing_. It's not nothing for five working class boys to buy their families houses and cars and help their siblings into careers when they might've not even made it to uni. It's not nothing to be able to fund charities with large, legitimate sums of money. And it's not nothing, either, to be able to have some real power in the world, to influence millions of people with a single tweet.

And he tells them about the unrelenting workload, the privacy they'll probably never get back, the toll on relationships and the toll on the families they hardly ever saw. How it was years before they had any real say in the music they made. Tells them about their brutal tour schedules, and all the time in between spent on adverts, merchandise, films, perfumes, signings, promo. How Syco had been desperate to squeeze everything they could out of them before they became irrelevant. They were a manufactured band that was never designed to last. 

But they'd lasted. And lasted. 

Until the cost of it became more than they were willing to pay. How it wasn't even what Harry and Louis went through that had them ending it. How after four years it was Zayn who couldn't handle it anymore, who'd left and burned almost every bridge he'd had. 

How, several months later, the rest of them had their renewed contracts written. They'd been prepared by Syco and Modest but negotiated for weeks by their lawyers and were set to have better terms and fewer restrictions than they'd ever had. But when they were placed in front of them to sign, it was Liam who refused to pick up the pen.

Tells them that the world had thought for years that Harry would be the first to leave. But that was him, even more than Louis, even more than _Niall_ , who, at the bitter end of things, was begging everyone to stay.

And he tells the boys how little time they have to decide. How last time they'd come in third place in the final but still been summoned to Simon's office the next day with an offer. And two days later, everything was signed.

 

 

Matt Cardle @MattCardle 28 Nov 2010  
did they forget they have beds upstairs or ? @onedirection http://twitpic.com/hjz76qf

 

 

Matt Cardle @MattCardle 28 Nov 2010  
apparently #1dpuppypileup is trending? they've not even woken up yet

 

 

Matt Cardle @MattCardle 28 Nov 2010  
@daniluv94 ... i think they're housetrained? #hopeso #1dpuppypileup

 

 

Matt Cardle @MattCardle 28 Nov 2010  
@amiraa14 i would love to take another one but i had to go down to the studios early :( #1dpuppypileup

 

 

Harry wakes to the sharp edge of a shoulder under his cheek, a hand stroking slowly over his hip, and his own hand fisted in someone's soft t-shirt.

He doesn't need to open his eyes to know it's too early to wake up. So instead he groans and cuddles closer to the conveniently warm body he's wrapped himself around. He hears a soft laugh and frowns.

"Shh, m'sleeping," he informs his bedmate.

He hears an amused-sounding 'okay' whispered back.

He sighs and burrows his head into a slightly more comfortable part of the boy's shoulder. The boy squeezes his side and it feels nice. Harry bets it would be nice to do that to the boy. So he lets go of the t-shirt he's still gripping and fumbles his hand over the other boy's body. He finds his back, then follows down the line of ribs — ignoring a squirmy 'that tickles, haz'—but makes it all the way to the curve of the boy's hipbone without finding anything soft enough to squeeze.

"That's always been your problem," he mumbles grudgingly.

"What's my problem?"

Harry pokes at the boy's side to demonstrate, and gets a cut-off squawk and his hand forcibly removed for his troubles.

"You're not soft enough," Harry tells him.

"I'm not soft... enough?" The boy sounds amused. He hasn't given Harry his hand back yet, but he's stroking his thumb over it in a way that feels quite nice. "You're not exactly soft either, love."

"I am," Harry insists, and yawns against his chest. He's about to launch into a detailed complaint about how this boy's body dared to be curvy in so many wonderful places but skipped this one spot, but one of them shifts a little, he isn't even sure which of them, and — okay.

This tiny bit of friction feels much better than it has a right to.

Which leads him to the realization that Louis might be correct. Maybe neither of them is particularly soft right now.

He finally opens his eyes and sits up. They are not in bed, it turns out, but on the floor of the lounge where they — and three other sleeping boys — had apparently crashed last night.

He looks back at Louis, unfairly beautiful in the early morning light. His hair is soft and disheveled and his eyes are softer. There's fondness and amusement there but also hesitation.

It shouldn't be a surprise. Not with how Harry's probably come across as rather unpredictable these past few weeks. And had some not-so-wonderful things to tell him about the future. And then probably come on more than a little strong.

But Harry can see Louis' fingers twitch.

He's let go of Harry's hand but he looks like he's having to stop himself from reaching out again and Harry realizes it's not a reluctant sort of hesitation, it's an uncertain sort.

So he reaches out for Louis instead, and Louis smiles back at him when he takes his hand.

 

 

Louis' back is to the wall, his arms wrapped around Harry's waist. Harry's bracing himself with one hand pressed to the side of Louis' head and cupping Louis' jaw with the other.

It's been long enough that they've kissed away the taste of toothpaste from their mouths. Far too soon, they'll have to go back to their lives. But for now in this back stairwell, Harry is rediscovering how much he loves kissing this boy.

They'd started out not awkwardly, really, but less coordinated. Plus Louis' glasses kept getting in the way. But Louis had taken them off and set them on the railing, and Harry had taken the lead with some of Louis' favorite type of kisses.

They're thorough and deep. Not rushed, but not lazy. They're kisses for the days when Louis needs every bit of Harry's attention, and for the days when he'll act like a little shit to everyone until he gets it. They're kisses to make him feel special, feel adored.

Harry runs his thumb over the sharp edge of Louis' jaw, the very small amount of stubble there from not having shaved yet. He moves his mouth down to his neck and starts kissing down the soft skin there. He gives him little licks, little sucks, enough to feel good but not enough to leave a mark.

Louis arches back, baring his neck for him and the angle pushes their groins together. They're both wearing trackies and Louis is probably the only one of the two of them wearing pants underneath, and Harry feels like he can feel everything. With how maddeningly hard they both are, it takes an almost inhuman amount of willpower to hold his hips still.

Instead, he shifts to kiss Louis behind his ear and he murmurs, "Could we take this slow?"

"Yeah, Hazza, of course — of course that's okay," Louis says, voice sounding a little strained as Harry continues kissing down his neck. "Just — fuck — your signals are just a little mixed — at this exact moment?"

Harry pulls back to look at him. For a moment he can't think of anything except how gorgeous Louis looks like this, wide pupils, kiss-bitten lips, breath coming a little fast. 

It takes him a second to put together what Louis' words mean. That their dicks, both achingly hard, are still literally separated by just three layers of cloth and Harry should really know by now exactly what it does to Louis when he goes for his favorite spots on his neck.

"Shit, sorry, Lou," Harry says. "I wasn't really, er—"

Louis' lips twist into a bit of a smile as he tightens his arms around his waist. "It's fine, you're — you're fucking amazing, you know that? I just need a second."

Harry laughs again and then kisses him, but as soft and as chaste as he can.

"How are you even — aren't you the one supposed t'be _sixteen_ here?" Louis asks.

"I've, like, honestly, been about an inch away from coming in my trackies this whole time," he assures him.

"Harry Styles," he hears a pointed voice call up from the bottom of the stairs. "That is more than anyone needs to overhear."

Harry glances down at where his mother is shaking her head, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry, mum," Harry says contritely.

"I was coming to find you in your room, but I think I'll take the other stairs," she says.

"Er, yeah, sure," he says.

"Also," she calls back as she starts to walk away. "I don't think those are your own tracksuit bottoms, darling. So I would take care!"

Harry covers his face with his hand.

"She's right," Louis says after a moment, fingering the waistband. "I think these are mine, actually."

 

 

By the time Harry finds his mother again, it's after a very cold shower — well, if he's being technical about it, it's after a very quick wank in a very cold shower — and borrowing a pair of trousers and a pullover from Matt Cardle's room.

Despite being routinely naked at home in front of his mother and routinely naked here in front of the boys, he suspects that if there were a time and place for nudity, this is not it. But his trackies — Louis' trackies, that is — weren't the _absolute_ cleanest anymore and when Harry had burst into the girls' room asking if he could borrow a pair of jeans and at least a jumper please, Rebecca and Cher had started asking questions he couldn't answer, such as where he was going to get pants to put on underneath.

And, well, Harry would rather walk around naked, with a boner, in front of his mother before he would consider borrowing Wagner's clothes. 

But Matt's not even at the house this morning, as far as Harry can tell. Which means he can throw the clothes in the washer before they leave. The only thing better than asking permission is asking forgiveness with a stack of freshly-laundered clothing in your arms.

He finds his mother and everyone except Liam already in their dorm room. She's sitting on Liam's bed and Louis is beside her, arm around her shoulders, and they're both cooing over something she's showing him on her phone.

"You're finally back." Niall is the first one to spot him coming in. "Your mum got here a while ago."

Zayn gives him a frown. "What are you wearing?"

"Just, um." Harry glances down at the Tottenham Hotspur pullover he has on. "Never mind that. Hello, mum."

"Hello, Harry," she says, sounding amused.

Louis looks at him, smirk playing over his lips. "What took you so long, mate?"

Harry narrows his eyes at him as he crosses the room. "I thought I'd have a shower."

"Oh? Is there hot water?" Niall asks. "Katie said she used it all but if it's warmed up again—"

"I don't know if there's hot water left," Harry says, plopping down on the other side of his mother and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "I didn't use any—"

It's his mother's raised eyebrows and Louis' pursed lips that get him to stop talking. Obviously not soon enough.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. "Can we talk about something else? Literally _anything_ else?"

His mother pats him on his back consolingly. "Look, I was just showing Louis the pictures from my girls' night out with his mum this week. I have some new photos of the twins here."

Harry perks up and lets her hand him the phone. He even manages to stop himself just in time from asking 'which twins'. Something seems odd with the photos, though — besides missing a set of twins and everyone in them being about eight years younger — or, rather, six years younger than that last time he'd seen them — but he doesn't realize what it is until he's a few pictures in.

He frowns and asks, "Why is Gemma in all these?"

"Oh, your sister wanted to join me, so I picked her up on the way," his mother says. She taps a pink-polished nail on the phone screen. "She said something about wanting to get to know her sisters-in-law. I didn't get the joke until just now. Really, Harry, you could have just told me about you and Louis instead of waiting for me to walk in on you."

"Walk in on what?" Niall asks.

"On these two snogging on the staircase." She shakes her head. "Really, boys, with all these cameras 'round you'd think you'd have learnt to close a door."

"Wait, really?" Niall says, eyes widening.

"Who was snogging on the staircase?" Liam appears in the doorway.

There's a moment of silence and then Zayn says, "Louis and Harry apparently."

"You mean, you—" Liam starts, staring at Harry.

"Oi, lads," Louis says, picking up a shoe and throwing it in their direction. "Don't act like it's a shock."

"Well, it kind of is—" Liam starts.

Harry catches his mother looking worriedly around the room. He puts his hand on her arm and says, "No, no, mum, it's fine." Then he glares around at the room at large. "They would've found out, it was just... new."

"It can't have been that new," she says. "Gemma obviously knew about it. And you drove us mad talking about Louis after the auditions in Manchester months ago."

Harry frowns for a moment, trying to remember and then—"Oh, yeah!" He grins over at Louis. "Remember how you asked for my autograph that day? I was regretting for weeks not putting my phone number down too. Made their lives miserable whinging about what if you didn't make it to bootcamp and I never saw you again. I mean, I didn't even know your last name."

His mother, seated between them, is looking a little bit confused. It takes Harry a moment before he realizes that this is probably not how sixteen year old boys typically respond when they're embarrassed by their mothers in front of the subject of their crush. Or, for what matter, when they've been accidentally outed to their friends for making out with said crush on the back staircase.

"You should have put your number," Louis tells him. "Your autograph might've been even more valuable if it came with your direct line."

"Would you have texted me if I had?" Harry asks, curious what he'll say.

"I don't know, Harold," Louis says, leaning back on the bed. "Seeing as you didn't even have the courtesy to ask for _my_ autograph in return."

Which is exactly the answer Harry had received every time he'd pressed the future version of Louis on that point.

"Well, I didn't even see you audition," Harry says. "How was I supposed to know if it would be worth anything?"

"Harry, that's not very nice," his mother says over Niall's cackles.

"Sorry, Lou," Harry says contritely. "I'll take your autograph now. I hear you're part of this hot new boyband...?"

"All right, cheeky." His mother shakes her head at him and turns to Louis. "You know, it's not too late to find a more supportive boyfriend."

"I'll keep that in mind," Louis says dryly.

Harry pouts.

"Anyways, Harry, there was a reason I came by this morning," she says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after that article in the papers this morning."

"What article?" Harry hasn't even checked his phone yet this morning. He's not entirely sure where it even is. "If it was something bad, it probably wasn't true."

His mother may not look much different than she does eight years from now — people have been telling him for years that he'll be lucky to age like she does; though he, and anyone who has ever seen his hairline, knows that is not going to happen — but she doesn't have the same eight years of experience ignoring the newspapers. And social media. And the television. And anything their neighbors or friends might say about him.

"There was an article about Harry this morning?" Liam asks. He frowns and pulls out his phone. "My Google alert for his name didn't go off."

"Since when do you have an alert for Harry's name?" Louis raises his eyebrows.

"Since bootcamp. I have them for all of you. Two for you," Liam says.

"Two for me? I'm flattered," Louis says, though he sounds more suspicious than flattered.

"One for Louis and one for Lewis. There's always someone who doesn't get your name right," Harry explains. He turns back to his mother. "Mum, what did the article say, though?"

"Here." She taps on her phone and begins reading: " _At sixteen, the youngest of Simon Cowell's new boyband is so crippled with nerves that Cowell contacted his celebrity friend Paul McKenna to help him through hypnotherapy. One staff member says that his nerves had got so bad that he was vomiting before every rehearsal—_ "

"Mum," Harry stops her. "None of that's true."

"Isn't it, though?" Niall asks.

"Course it's not," Louis says.

"No, it was, though," Liam says. "Remember, Harry got sick that one time—"

"But that was before—" Zayn argues.

"Really, does this look like a lad with stage fright here?" Louis interrupts them, gesturing at him.

"Look," Harry says to his mother. "If I was getting sick that often, do you think I'd even have a voice? I mean, my allergies act up and I have to go on vocal rest for a week."

"What?" she says, a crease in her brow. "You've never been on vocal rest. I'm not sure I even know what that is."

"Can I see that?" Liam asks as he steps forwards. Harry's mother hands over her phone. Liam frowns at it as he scrolls. "That's why," he says finally. "It didn't pick it up because it doesn't have your name or X Factor in it. I need to make better alerts."

"No, what you need is a PR team who takes the courtesy to let you know when they've planted a story about you," Harry mutters darkly. "Let alone, you know, actually getting your permission first."

"What's that?" his mother says.

Harry sits up straighter and takes her arm. "Look, you really don't have to worry about that, I promise. But I think I need to tell you something."

 

 

It takes several hours, a change of venue to Fountain Studios, backup from Gemma via Skype, a break for Harry's turn to have his hair styled and then another break for photoshoots and interviews before his mother starts to look like she believes him.

She looks like she's just about to ask him another question when they're interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Harry's the closest, so he stands and opens the door to find a girl there.

"Hi there," he says, crouching in front of her. "Are you lost, sweetie?"

"I just wanted an autograph," she says. His eyes fall on the paper and pen in her hands.

"Of course," he says. He peers around her. "But how did you get back here? Where are your—" His eyes fall back on her. "Wait, do I... have we met before?"

"I don't think so," she says. "And my aunt's right out there. I just told her to wait for me."

"No, but—" He takes in her tumble of dark curls, freckles, the point of her jaw. "Are you sure you don't remember me? From more than just the telly, I mean."

"Oh," she says and her eyes widen. "I see it now."

"You do? So you do remember?" Harry asks.

"You're the one from the future. Why would _I_ remember?"

He hears a gasp and the squeak of a chair behind him.

"You — but you look the same, though," he says. "How old are you?"

"I'm twelve," she says, frowning at him. "But I'll still be twelve for a while."

"Okay," he says. "Um, look, do you want to come in? We can get you something to eat, or drink?" He glances back at where his mother, Louis and Liam are all still at the conference table staring at them.

"I have to get back to my aunt," she says.

"Right," he says. "She could come, too, we can go get her."

"I just came for an autograph."

Harry bites his lip. "Of course. That's okay. Just — can you tell me what the rules are?" She looks confused. "To time travel?"

"There are rules?" she asks.

He pauses and then laughs a little. "I suppose not, then. Um, at least, what sorts of things can I change? Because it seems like there are things I can and things I can't. I know you don't remember sending me back here, but I thought maybe the things I could change were the ones related to why I came back?"

"Why did I decide to send you back, then?" she asks curiously.

"Why did _you_ decide? I don't know," he says. "I thought maybe you were a fan?"

She just nods and confirms, "I am a fan."

"Yeah, I can see that," Harry says, smiling a little down at her paper and pen. "So, um. There was one thing in particular I was thinking about when I, like, accepted your offer? I thought maybe it was only things related to that that I could change."

"Why?" She looks puzzled. "That sounds complicated."

Harry glances at the others and then back at her. "Yes? It does?"

"You can change the same things you could have changed before," she tells him, sounding impatient. 

"Oh," Harry says.

"And you can't change things you couldn't have changed before. Can I get my autograph now? My aunt's going to worry if I don't get back."

"Right. Of course, sorry." He holds out his hands to take her pen and paper. "Who would you like me to make it out for—"

"I don't want _your_ autograph," she says.

He frowns. "But you just said — I mean, you're a fan?"

"But not _your_ fan," she tells him and points behind him. "I'm _his_ fan."

Harry follows her finger to where it's pointed and...

He shakes his head at himself as he stands up to get out of her way.

"Of course you are." He laughs. "Of course that's it. You have very, very good taste."

 

 

"You really should've seen Harry's face when she said 'I'm not your fan, I'm his', though," Liam is telling the other boys after they're done recounting the story to Niall and Zayn, who've just returned.

"That was good," Louis agrees, leaning back in his chair. "But I think my favorite part was when she said she was my _biggest_ fan."

"So?" Zayn asks.

"No matter how Harry tried to explain to her that she could only be Louis' second-biggest, she wouldn't back down," Liam says.

"I was actually getting worried you might come to blows there," his mother says dryly.

"Mum," Harry groans. "I was just trying to make sure there weren't any misunderstandings."

She pats his shoulder and then stands up.

"I need to go find Robin so we can take our seats. But, Louis," she says. "Before I forget, I left that thing you asked for back in the bedroom."

"What did he ask you for?" Harry asks her, since no one's told him yet.

She shakes her head. Her eyes are still a little wet. "Something that makes a lot more sense now." She cups his cheek in her hand and says, "Oh, darling, we really need to find you boys a good solicitor."

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Live Show 8 - [You Are So Beautiful](https://youtu.be/634E_ykeNfM?t=50)


	14. PART THREE - Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note, I changed a couple character names in the earlier chapters:  
> \- their vocal coach/songwriter/man of questionable intent is now Sandeep (I want to use his character more but I felt hesitant making him a man of questionable intent when he's a lot less of a public figure)  
> \- Louis's girlfriend is now Heather (it occurred to me that I was using Louis's girlfriend as a character when she didn't have an intentional public persona)  
> \- Niall's ex-girlfriend is now Amelia (same reason)

PART THREE

 _We can make it_  
_You know it_  
_You know_  
\- "History" (One Direction, 2015)

"Welcome to... the X Factor!" 

Microphone in hand, Dermot walks in between the crowd of contestants in the backstage corridor. They're all pressed against the walls so he and his camera crew can pass through.

" _We are live backstage with seven very nervous finalists because tonight is the double elimination._ " 

Harry watches as Dermot passes him.

" _Five acts will make it through to next week's X Factor Semi-Final. Two will be heading home._ "

Across the corridor, Richard is applying wax to the ends of Liam's Bieber fringe. Mary appears to be giving Cher some sage advice. Wagner is attempting to tell a joke to a confused member of the crew. Louis is talking quietly with an anxious-looking Katie, hand gently squeezing her arm. Niall is laughing with Matt and Zayn. 

As Dermot climbs the few steps to the side entrance to the stage, the overhead announcer takes over.

" _Last night the remaining seven X Factor finalists sang live for your votes. Fighting for survival are... Dannii and the last of the Boys: Matt Cardle._ "

Dannii Minogue and Matt's faces flash by on the large monitor hung just above the stage entrance. 

" _Louis and the Over 28s: Wagner and Mary Byrne._ "

Through the open entrance, Harry can see the stage from the side, where Dermot is taking his place, and the empty Judges' Desk and the cheering audience behind it.

" _Cheryl and the Girls: Cher Lloyd, Rebecca Ferguson and Katie Waissel._ "

Katie breaks away from Louis and resumes her previous nervous pacing down the hallway.

' _And Simon and the last of the Groups: One Direction._ '

The crowd has been cheering for everyone, but now they simply erupt.

Cher stamps her foot on the floor. "Why do your fans have to always be so bloody loud."

Matt laughs.

Mary looks at Harry with a pointedly arched eyebrow, as if this is his doing.

After all these years, Harry still gets vaguely embarrassed when the cheers of the crowd get noticeably louder when their name is announced, whether it's on a talk show or festival concert or a contractual return to The X Factor itself.

To be honest, he's even felt a bit bad about it this past year when the crowd is more enthusiastic about him than his opening acts. Even if that is sort of how it's meant to work.

Harry glances through the stage entrance to see the judges entering from center-stage, hand-in-hand, to continued cheers from the crowd.

Dermot says, " _Welcome to The X Factor, the Results!_ "

 

 

As the judges take their seats, Dermot announces, " _The X Factor Charity Single is now the official UK number one! And it's not too late to get your hands on it and help out Hope for Heroes._ "

It's hard to believe that it's been only a few days since release day and that night they were at the Oxford Street HMV pretending to buy it.

Really, just a few days and half a lifetime's worth of emotional revelations ago.

Speaking of which, Harry feels the familiar weight of an arm slide around his waist. He turns to give Louis a smile. And then yawns instead.

Louis' lips quirk up. "Tired?"

"Could use a cup of coffee," Harry says.

Louis, with an aggravated sigh, asks him, "You know what the most unbelievable part of this time travel situation is?"

"That you have tattoos?" Harry suggests.

Louis pauses, pursing his lips. "Okay, do you know what the _second_ hardest part to believe is?"

"That you and Liam wrote a song about morning wood?" Harry asks.

"That's third," Louis says. "Second is that at some point in the next eight years you've become a coffee drinker."

" _Voting lines are still open,_ " Dermot's saying on-stage. The phone numbers flash by on the monitor. " _Calls cost 35p from a BT landline. Other landlines may vary and calls from mobiles will be considerably more._ "

Dermot continues, " _It's all in your hands. No one is safe and they need your vote. Two weeks to go until the winner gets their hands on the prize of a lifetime._ "

 

 

" _Kicking things off tonight, the first of our special guests. They are Britain's newest boyband to storm the charts,_ " Dermot says. " _Here with an exclusive first performance of their new single, please welcome... The Wanted._ "

Harry watches as a chariot appears on-stage, decked out in circus lights. It rolls forwards to center-stage, carrying five passengers.

"Look, they're your idols," Wagner calls over in a smarmy voice.

Harry doesn't dignify that with a response. But Louis offers, "I'm more of a Take That fan meself."

The five boys on-stage are all in leather jackets and white vests and matching glowers. So, looking not particularly different from how Harry last remembers them. 

Sure, last night Harry had gone for an edgy, bad boy look for their second song. But they'd still been soft at heart. He'd still had Niall in a hoodie, Liam with his Bieber hair, himself with a bandana twisted into a headband, had Zayn styled more aloof than dangerous.

Louis, even after the stylists had seen his outfit and had fun expanding the theme with spiked hair and dark eyeliner, had delivered his verses in such a fragile, vulnerable way that no one would mistake him for dangerous.

"Is that the one I'm supposed to start a twitter feud with?" Zayn appears next to them and asks in a low voice.

Harry says, "No, you started that with Max."

"Which one's that?"

Harry nods at the stage. "Shaved head."

"Hope that just stuck to twitter. Don't think I'd want to fight that one in person," Zayn says. Louis laughs and rests his arm — the one he doesn't have around Harry's waist — on Zayn's shoulder.

That was the problem with The Wanted. No matter what their lyrics were, their performances still toed the wrong edge of menacing.

It's hard to succeed as a boyband when you look like men few teenage girls would want to meet walking alone on the road at night.

"It was really more all of us and all of them, though," Harry says. "You only started it up with Max after things he said to me at a party. You'd overheard and. Well. Yeah."

Louis pulls back and looks at him, looking confused. "Did he insult _you_? How does someone even do that?"

Zayn narrows his eyes at him. "What sorts of things did he say, then?"

"I mean." Harry shrugs helplessly, regretting having ever mentioned this. "In the right circles, me and Lou were sort of an open secret."

After a beat, Zayn says in a flat voice, "Right."

Louis turns from Harry to look on-stage with a hard expression, tightening his grip on his waist. Before he can say anything, Harry cuts in.

"Er, anyways. It's not like he was — he could've said a lot worse than he did. And it's 2010 right now. It's not like he's done anything yet, so."

In a strange plot twist, the Wanted's backup dancers start driving little bumper cars around the stage.

"I think he was just being an idiot," Harry says. "But it kind of blew up until it was like some boyband feud on twitter. Like the T-Birds and the Scorpions?"

Louis looks back at him, a complicated expression on his face.

"Like, Zayn was Kenickie and Max was Craterface?" Harry tries.

"Do I get t'be John Travolta, then?" Louis says, finally allowing himself to be distracted.

Zayn looks between them. "What?"

"Always." Harry smiles at Louis. Then muses, "Craterface isn't a very nice nickname, is it? Like, if they gave him that because he had acne, no wonder he hated them." He frowns. "Do you reckon that's what turned him evil?"

He's maybe feeling acutely aware at the moment of the new spots on his face from the stress and sleeplessness of the last few days. The thick layers of stage makeup currently covering them might help for tonight but they aren't going to make matters any better in the morning.

"What are you two talking about?" Zayn demands.

"Have you not seen Grease yet?" Harry asks Zayn.

"Course I've seen it," Zayn says. "Louis made us watch it twice when we were at the bungalow, remember?"

"Only made _you_ watch it once," Louis says. "The others got the pleasure of watching it twice because you showed up a day late."

"Anyways," Harry says as the music fades away. "I think Zayn won the twitter war for us when he called Max Chlamydia boy."

"Chlamydia—what?" Niall asks, bursting into the conversation with a laugh.

" _Give it up for The Wanted everyone!_ " Dermot walks back onto the stage. " _Remember, the contestants are all backstage, counting on you for their bid to win a one million pound recording contract. They all need your help to get there._ "

"Oh, god, I can't — why can't this just be over _now_?" Katie exclaims, wringing her hands.

Mary reaches out to stop her. "Come on, then, deep breaths."

Dermot adds, conspiratorially, " _I'm being told the vote is very, very close. It's important that you call while you still can to vote for your favorite._ "

The live show cuts to an advert with rapping dairy farmers while crew rushes on-stage to change out the set.

Harry can't help but yawn again as he leans onto Louis' shoulder. He's with Katie. He wishes they could get it over with so he could go back to the house and sleep.

"Are you so sure you're going to win that you're actually bored over there, Harry?" Matt asks. His words are softened with an amused smile.

"Er, sorry," Harry says quickly, standing up straight again. "Of course I'm not — no. I'm just tired."

"That's what you get when you spend the night sleeping on the floor," Mary says. "Don't know what possessed you lot. You're just lucky you're young. I'd have a backache all day if I tried that."

Harry would surely have a backache, too, if it was only a couple of years from now. There are, it turns out, some benefits to having a body that's only sixteen years old.

On-stage, Dermot says, " _Here with a very special X Factor performance is... Justin Bieber._ "

Actually, maybe Harry should start thinking about that. The Traveler, that girl, had said that he could change anything he could've changed before. Which was predictably cryptic but probably means that he could maybe prevent himself from injuring it. If he started doing yoga on a regular basis now, and maybe some core-strengthening pilates —

"You in there, Hazza?" Louis asks. 

Harry blinks, takes in his gentle eyes, and yawns again.

 

 

And that's how, a few minutes later, he finds himself watching Louis stir Tesco Everyday Value instant coffee into a mug of hot water. It occurs to him too late that he should have specified that when he said he needed a cup of coffee, he'd meant something more closely related to an actual coffee bean.

"Are you sure we're supposed to be in here?" Liam asks.

"This is Dermot's dressing room." Louis rolls his eyes as he hands Harry the mug. "Of course we're not."

"But—"

"Not like the man's going to leave the stage t'come find us right now, though, is he?" Louis asks, gesturing across the room.

Flashbacks from the contestants have just ended and Dermot's voice comes from the TV mounted on the other side of the dressing room: " _All right, time for the second guest of tonight. He was spotted online, became an internet sensation and is now one of the biggest popstars on the planet._ "

Harry takes a sip of the coffee and tries not to grimace too obviously. If nothing else, it's strong. Louis had been distracted by an advert about halfway through making it and ended up spooning half a container's worth of coffee granules into the mug.

He glances at the TV, where Justin Bieber and his backup dancers are executing some semi-complicated choreography in the strobe lights. Even on the small TV, and in a distant shot, he looks considerably younger than what Harry's used to. He's also decked out in black leather, with what looks like rhinestones on his jacket.

"Do you think we should be more worried?" Liam asks.

"About Dermot?" Louis asks.

"About the results."

Louis knocks his shoulder into Harry's. "If Harry here's not worried, I'm not going to worry. Are you worried, H?"

Harry shakes his head. He hasn't had a chance to properly watch their performances from last night, but he knows from people's reactions that they don't need to worry.

"We pulled through last night," he says. "And even if it turns out it's fixed, we're the show's biggest money-makers and Simon's not as annoyed with us as he was, anyways."

"We're the show's — what?" Louis asks.

On the TV, Dermot praises Justin's performance. Justin responds with awkward humility. Then Dermot asks, " _Performing in front of Simon, are you nervous about that?_ "

" _I wasn't,_ " Justin says. " _Um, I wasn't that nervous. I was pretty cool. I was pretty calm. Pretty collected. Now, um, Cheryl—_ "

Justin proceeds with a very clumsy attempt at flirting with Cheryl Cole. Harry catches Liam turning to the TV with growing frown on his face.

"Biggest money-makers," Harry finally says, turning back to Louis, whose brow is furrowed as he looks at him.

Dermot finally takes over the microphone and says directly to the camera, " _This is your five minute warning. Voting lines will be closing very soon. This is your last chance to save your favorite act._ "

 

 

" _It's one of America's biggest popstars in her first ever solo live performance. It's the Pussycat Dolls' Nicole Scherzinger!_ "

"Where were you?" Zayn demands with a frown when they rejoin the other contestants in the backstage corridor.

"Keeping me awake," Harry says. Louis gives him a small smile and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Harry can see out onto the stage where Nicole is starting her song. She's in black leather, too. And in a cage, flanked by two women in bondage gear.

In 2010, the last time he would have seen her would have been at bootcamp. But his fondest memory of her will always be at his audition, when she'd voted against Louis Walsh to keep him in.

 

 

" _Was that your first solo performance of that single?_ " Dermot asks.

" _That was my first solo performance ever and my first time ever performing this song in front of anyone, so..._ " Nicole says, soft-spoken and bashful in complete contrast to her performance.

" _Now you were our judge in Manchester. You picked Rebecca and you picked three of One Direction. I imagine our viewers are grateful for that. Have you been watching them at all?_ "

" _Yes, I am. I watched them in my hotel room last night_ ," she says. " _And they are amazing. I'm so proud of them. They've come so far. They should be very proud of themselves._ "

" _Such a nice girl_ ," Dermot says. " _Listen, give it up for Nicole Scherzinger_."

She blows a kiss to the crowd.

Dermot turns back to the cameras.

" _Now, after the break, it is the results. Don't go anywhere._ "

 

 

" _Welcome back to The X Factor: The Results. Lines are closed and the results are in. Now, let's bring out the judges and the contestants._ "

They're waiting behind the center stage entrance waiting to go on. Simon and Louis Walsh are talking quietly over to the side. Both looking a little less gray, like they'd had their hair dye touched up today.

Simon hasn't offered more than a few words to Harry or the other boys, and those were nothing more than some generic good luck and admonishment about the need for hard work.

Harry is still more distinctly aware of Simon than usual, since hearing how he'd confronted Louis in Spain. He's also aware that whenever Simon's eyes fall on him they narrow just a little. Though that's probably more about his behavior at sound check the other day than anything else.

He hears Dermot announce: " _First up is Cheryl and the girls. Cher, Rebecca and Katie._ "

Cheryl walks forwards onto stage in the middle of her three contestants, all hand-in-hand.

" _Dannii and the one remaining boy, Matt Cardle._ "

She gives Matt a small smile and they walk onto the stage.

" _Louis and the Over-28s: Wagner and Mary._ "

He walks on-stage holding hands with Wagner and Mary Byrne.

Simon rejoins them now and they step forwards.

" _Now, it's Simon and the last remaining group: One Direction._ "

Once again, the crowd erupts.

 

 

"Okay. It's time for the results," Dermot says once they've all lined up. "Here's how it's going to work. I'll now reveal which four acts are safe and which acts are in the bottom three. The act with the least votes will leave the competition, and which of the remaining two acts stays be determined by the judges."

"The first act through to next week's semi-final is... Rebecca."

Harry watches her across the stage, white dress and tear-glassy eyes as Cheryl gives her a delicate hug before she walks off-stage.

"The next act through to next week's semi-final is... Matt."

His eyes widen comically and Dannii embraces him tightly before they exit.

"The next act safe and definitely returning to perform in the semi-final is... Cher."

She starts sobbing and throws her arms around Cheryl and then Katie.

"Three acts have made it through," Dermot says somberly. "Only one more is certain of a place in next week's show. We have One Direction, Mary, Wagner and Katie remaining."

He looks around the stage, nodding to all of them.

Harry glances around at the other boys. For all that they've been acting like they don't know if they want to be here, they're definitely looking nervous at being sent home. Liam is starting to look twitchy again. Zayn is darting his eyes back and forth. Niall is for some reason just staring directly at Harry and Louis. Louis' squeezing his arm around his shoulders.

Harry glances up at Simon, who is standing impassively in the center of them.

Dermot says, "The final act definitely through to the semi-final is... One Direction."

Niall screams and leap into the air. Louis grins at Harry and captures him in a tight hug. Harry tries to hug him back without thinking about how many people, including Simon right there next to them, are watching right now.

But barely a moment passes before Louis releases him and all the boys go in to hug Simon.

Louis doesn't even hesitate to join in. Harry makes to join the group hug a moment too late, which means he doesn't have to actually join because they're already detaching.

As Harry follows them mechanically down the steps off-stage he thinks back to all the hugs they've been instructed to give Simon all these weeks, all the times Louis has called him 'Uncle Simon' like he'd been prompted to.

It makes Harry feel a bit sick all over again.

"Congratulations, boys," Simon is telling them. He coughs a couple of times, then clears his throat and says. "I will see you tomorrow to discuss plans for your next performances. I have some surprises for you this week."

Without further elaboration, he pops a cough drop in his mouth and that's that.

From on-stage, Harry hears Dermot announce, " _The act who received the fewest public votes and will be leaving the competition immediately is... Katie._ "

On the monitor by the stage entrance, Katie is nodding with a sad but understanding smile, all her anxiety suddenly and improbably giving way to poise.

 

 

After the adverts, Wagner and Mary are still standing on-stage, awaiting their fates.

The rest of the contestants wait backstage. Harry sees the Xtra Factor cameras closing in on where Katie's embracing her mother.

" _One of them will be returning to sing in next week's semi-finals. One of them will be leaving the competition,_ " Dermot says. " _That decision is in the hands of our judges. Louis, how about you first. The name of the act you are sending home tonight._ "

" _I'll just say, Wagner, you are unforgettable. Absolutely,_ " Louis Walsh says. " _But, Mary, your performances have been truly stunning. I've enjoyed working with the both of you in this competition. But the act I'm sending home tonight is... Wagner._ "

Dannii votes to send Wagner home as well.

Cheryl acknowledges that she and Wagner have not always seen eye-to-eye, then calls him a gracious man despite that, and then votes to send him home.

" _Mary, congratulations, with three votes you are through to the semi-final,_ " Dermot says.

As she walks off-stage, Dermot then says to Simon, " _Simon, which way would you have gone?_ "

Simon smirks at the camera and says, " _You know, there were people out there trying to de-rail this show. What has happened tonight is we've put this show back in the hands of the real voters. No disrespect, Wagner, but Cheryl sent you off tonight and it's good-bye from me, too._ "

Dermot asks Wagner for his reaction, and he responds by punching and air and starting to sing, ' _Like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone, gone, gone..._ '

" _All right._ " Dermot turns back to the camera, unruffled. " _One Direction, Cher, Mary, Rebecca and Matt will be competing for a place in the final. We will see you next week for The X Factor semi-final, 7:40 on ITV. For reactions to tonight's results we will be going to The Xtra Factor after a short break. Thanks so much for watching!_ "

 

 

A few more minutes finds remaining acts back on-stage and Konnie Huq having taken Dermot's place.

"Hello and welcome to The Xtra Factor," she says. "What a night. Two contestants have now left us and we are all in shock. We'll be talking to Katie and Wagner at the end of the night. For now, let's hear from Mary how it felt to be saved by the judges after having ended up in the bottom three."

She chats with Mary for a minute and at the end, Mary finishes with a thank you to her daughter and a cheeky, "My strategy for next week is to sing the songs with all my heart and to go down and bribe a few of the judges."

Konnie laughs and moves over to Cher. "What was going through your head as Dermot was calling out names?"

"Er, it was a massive shock I wasn't in the bottom two to be quite honest. I didn't expect to get through."

She finishes her interview to cheers from the crowd and then goes over to Rebecca.

"Hello. The sophisticated Rebecca Ferguson," she says. "You have never ever ever been in the bottom. But you're never that confident in yourself even though the public loves you."

"I think," Rebecca says as she twists her hands together. "I think you've got to be humble."

Konnie finishes with her quickly and then takes a few steps over to where Harry and the others are standing.

The audience cheers are yet again blatantly louder than they've been for the others.

Konnie gives them a big grin and says, "I'm going to translate the audience for you here: they love you."

Harry gives the audience a wave and mouths a thank you, getting them to cheer even louder.

"Now," Konnie says to them. "You were the last act saved. Obviously the crowd loves you. Did you ever think that perhaps you could be in the bottom three?"

It's fortunate for all of them that she puts the microphone in front of Louis, because Harry is still not a good actor and, as relieved as the other three seemed to be to not be cut tonight, he is not entirely sure where their heads are at.

But Louis just nods solemnly and says, "Of course. It was scary. We know we can't take anything for granted in this competition. Really, a massive thank you to everyone at home who voted for us."

"Now, you five have been all over twitter this week. I'm not sure I've ever met this many boys at once with such a paralyzing fear of spiders."

After confirming how excited they were to see Justin Bieber live, she turns to Matt. "So how's it going? Are you nervous about semi-final week?"

"Oh, absolutely," he says. "Definitely. I think everybody's going to be very, very nervous and rightly so. It's a nerve-wracking time."

"Do you feel like you can smell victory now there's only two weekends left?" she asks him.

He stumbles over an answer about how it's tough to know and then Konnie finishes by turning to the audience with, "Well, anything could happen in this competition, so make sure you keep voting!"

"Now," Konnie continues, facing the cameras. "If you're shouting at your screen over tonight's decisions, then you need to pick up that phone, call us or text us or go to ITV.com-forward-slash-xfactor and shout directly at the judges themselves."

 

 

"How long do you reckon the time delay is on the Xtra Factor feed?" Harry asks. 

When his mother doesn't immediately answer, he turns his attention away from the TV mounted on the wall next to him — and the caller from his bath who is criticizing the judges for letting Wagner go.

She's watching him over the rim of her pint glass.

"The problem is," Harry says. "It actually takes a lot to keep bubble bath bubbles thick enough to cover you up for more than a couple of minutes. I think it's better if you add special things. But you still need someone else there to fluff them up between takes. It doesn't really look like the caller has that—"

"Harry," she interrupts him.

"Hmm?"

But then she just shakes her head.

"Well, at least there's no goat trying to eat the bubbles," Harry says.

He glances across the X Factor backstage bar to where Louis is chatting with Zayn and Mary. Harry spares a grateful thought that, unlike a lot of the guest acts, The Wanted didn't stick around after their part in the show.

What Harry would like most right now — even more than sleep, now that he's had coffee — is to just kind of devote a couple of hours to just watching his boy. He's back in the hoodie and joggers he'd been wearing earlier in the day and he's relaxed, leaning back on his elbows on the bar. He has a bit of fringe peeking out from his beanie and his eyes are sparkling as he smiles at something Zayn is saying.

He's so beautiful he makes Harry's heart ache.

"You really care for him, don't you?" His mother interrupts his thoughts.

He doesn't look away from Louis. "Mum, I made a secret Pinterest account so I could save proposal ideas and wedding color schemes."

"What's pinterest?"

Louis turns and catches his eye, giving him a soft smile across the room. Harry smiles back.

" _This is from a Mara and Annie from Bristol._ " he hears Konnie say over the music playing in the room.

" _Thanks, so, um. I really like One Direction and I think they could go all the way._ "

Louis has collected his own beer and is walking back over to him, Zayn following.

The caller continues, " _But no group has ever won the X Factor before. Even JLS only got second place. Do you think it's even possible that they could win?_ "

He hears Simon's voice say, " _It's more than possible._ "

Harry glances back over at the TV. Simon has his arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in his judges' seat.

" _I knew those five boys had potential when I put them together in bootcamp and they're exceeding my expectations every week. You can't compare them to JLS. They have a better mentor for one —_ " He holds up a hand when Louis Walsh starts to protest. " _— and a fan base that's unprecedented on this show._ " The crowd cheers. " _They absolutely have a chance to be the first group to win this thing. But I think people assume week after week that these boys are safe and they're not._ "

Harry frowns at the TV. He isn't sure if that's a ploy to keep people voting or a veiled threat or — well, knowing Simon, possibly both.

Harry feels Louis' hand come to rest on the small of his back and he leans into him.

" _Wait, look at that, what does that say?_ " Konnie asks. 

The TV feed goes from Konnie to the grainy feed of the girls calling in, to show that one girl is holding up a sign with the words in Sharpie, 'Marry me, Louis'.

" _Is that Louis from One Direction or Louis Walsh?_ " Konnie asks. Louis Walsh holds up his hands in protest, shaking his head amidst laughter and cheers. 

" _Louis from One Direction,_ " the girl says.

" _Well, that is a very romantic proposal. We'll have to ask him and get back to you,_ " Konnie says.

"What's your answer going to be, then, mate?" Zayn asks.

"Well, can't just say yes to the first proposal I get, can I?" Louis says.

Harry turns to him and says, "She could have put more effort into the sign. The letters aren't even straight."

Harry hears his mother laugh.

"And, I mean," Harry continues, ignoring her. "A marriage proposal deserves more than just black Sharpie. Like, glitter, at the very least."

Louis looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh as he says, "I'll be sure to have you vet all future proposals I receive."

"You should," Harry tells him.

Louis gives him a fond smile and offers him his beer. Harry ignores his mother's raised eyebrows and takes a sip anyways.

She refused to buy Harry a pint tonight after what she'd heard about him getting drunk the other week with Gemma. Especially — as she'd pointed out — now that she knows he was old enough to know better.

He'd haughtily informed her that he doesn't even like beer, anyways.

"Going to go check on that early ride back we were trying to get sorted," Louis says and gives Harry a gentle pat on his back before he heads off.

The judges are taking the next caller now. It's something about Rebecca. Harry glances across the bar to where Rebecca herself is chatting with Nicole Scherzinger.

"This didn't happen last time," Harry says after a minute. "The, um, that marriage proposal."

"And you'd remember?" Zayn asks.

"I would've." Harry says. He looks from Zayn to his mother. "I mean, nothing like this happened with him last time. Louis did the video diaries and the quiz things just like now. But he didn't get attention on the actual show. Even Konnie having him answer the question on-stage tonight, that wouldn't have ever happened last time."

Harry was an idiot last time for not noticing what they'd been doing with Louis. He remembers how different they'd sounded on The X Factor tour a couple of months later. He and the others had assumed it was because they'd got a bit more vocal training between now and then. Louis had never said a word about how the real difference was that his mic wasn't turned down.

He feels Louis' beer mug being taken from his hands while he's distracted, thinking.

"Mum," he starts up a half-hearted complaint.

"I need this more than you do. This is all new to me." She takes a long drink. When she puts it down, she concedes, "Well, I suppose Louis probably needs it more than all of us combined."

"You'd think so," Zayn says.

"They were really serious about what they did to him, then, weren't they?" his mother says.

Harry nods.

"And all because they thought he was gay?"

"Can't have gay boys in a boyband," Harry mutters. He catches Zayn's sharp look and continues, more loudly. "I just wish I knew what made Simon change his mind this time. Like, what made Konnie have him answer questions tonight? What made them give him a makeover and put articles in the paper about him? What made Sandeep go from being told to downplay his part to giving him a solo the next day? "

"You gave him your mic, mate, remember?" Zayn says.

"But why should that have changed so much?" Harry asks. "They're, like, actively promoting him this time in this role of a 'perfect boyfriend'. Even while they all still think he's gay. And even while he still hasn't been cooperating with them," Harry says.

"Do you think there's more he isn't telling you?" his mother asks.

Harry shakes his head. He's asked himself the same question, but he does think Louis would have told him. More than anything, he seems relieved to have someone else who already knows what's going on. It more than breaks Harry's heart how alone he must have felt last time, afraid that if he told anyone anything he'd ruin everything.

Harry is going to do right by him this time. He just really wishes someone would tell him what 'right' is.

" _It's time now for yet another break,_ " Konnie is saying from the TV. " _But please do stay with us and keep those comments coming in because straight after the adverts we're going to be continuing with the debate. We've got Alan Fletcher aka Dr Karl Kennedy, Edith Bowman and David Hasselhoff! Bye, see you in a minute!_ "

The TV has cut to another dairy advert when Liam leaves his parents chatting with Robin at the bar and comes over to join them. A few minutes later Louis returns with the news that it'll still be a while before they can round up a car.

" _I like Matt,_ " Edith Bowman says on the TV. " _And I love Rebecca. I just think that — she says she likes having fun but I haven't seen that yet._ "

Louis steps up next to Harry and wraps his arms around him again. Harry rests his head on his shoulder contentedly. He has missed these easy touches so much the past couple of weeks.

" _She's so sophisticated, though,_ " Konnie says. Harry glances at Rebecca across the room in a long skirt and polo-neck, long ponytail falling over her shoulder. Then looks around at all of them, in various combinations of hoodies and tracksuit bottoms and, yes, he would not disagree.

If this any of the last several years, he would never be at anything resembling a party wearing anything resembling this. But he is warm and comfortable. And whether that's his soft, oversized Jack Wills hoodie and purple trainers or the fact that he's tucked into Louis' side. Well.

" _If you're talking about a great performance, of course someone has to be a good singer,_ " Alan says, joining in with an Australian inflection. " _But it's the passion that makes the performance. And sometimes I watch Rebecca and I think her voice has got the X Factor. But I don't know if she has the passion for it._ "

" _So who's got the X Factor then?_ " Konnie asks.

" _I want to say Matt. He has the voice. He's a good technician, he sings well, he's got a great falsetto, and he can sing a lot of different styles. And I believe him in his songs. He does have the passion. So I want to say it's Matt. It should be Matt._ "

" _Except when he's got on that white vest,_ " Edith says.

" _Not a fan of the white vest?_ " Konnie laughs.

On the TV screen, she shakes her head resolutely.

" _You know what I'm a fan of? One Direction,_ " David Hasselhoff speaks up.

" _Well, that's my point, too,_ " Alan says.

" _That you're a fan of One Direction?_ " Konnie asks.

" _Well, it wasn't by my choice,_ " Alan insists.

" _An unwilling fan,_ " she says with a laugh. " _How is that possible?_ "

" _And why does it have to be unwilling?_ " David Hasselhoff asks. " _They're five very charming young men. They get your attention right away, each one of them._ " His tone gets increasingly passionate. " _I met a couple of them backstage right before this and, you know, they're just nice kids._ "

"Who did he meet?" Liam asks, looking around the table with a frown.

"That would've been me and our little Irish lad," Louis says, rubbing his hands down Harry's arms. "The Hoff was very friendly. And if he thought we were nice..." He shrugs.

"Were you not nice?" Liam asks, a little suspiciously.

"We were delightful," Louis informs him. "Just fairly certain he didn't understand a word of what either of us said."

" _You know, they can sing. They have the looks. They have the whole package,_ " David Hasselhoff continues fervently. " _They're a band of five Justin Biebers._ "

And there it is.

Harry doesn't think he's met anyone so enthusiastic at getting through his talking points before. And that includes, in a different life, David Hasselhoff himself.

" _They are, aren't they?_ " Konnie says with a laugh. " _Now, Alan, what you were saying about being an unwilling fan? Do they have the passion you're looking for?_ "

" _That's the problem,_ " Alan says. " _It's one thing to say they can sing. But those boys must be at least ten years younger than Matt. And that Aerosmith song last night — all due respect to Steven Tyler but I don't know what Simon was thinking when he let them choose that song. It must be the most overused song in reality talent show history._ "

" _I have heard it a few times on America's Got Talent,_ " David Hasselhoff admits. " _But I thought those boys made it work for them._ "

" _They did,_ " Alan says. " _That was the passion I was looking for. And last night it was all down to that one boy, what is his name —_ "

" _I know who you're talking about. It's the one with the hair —_ " Edith starts.

" _Aw, that's Liam,_ " Konnie says. " _He's so adorable, isn't he? With the Bieber haircut?_ "

Harry dares a glance at Liam, whose eyes are narrowed at the TV. Harry's starting to worry that if one more person comments on his hair, he's going to just shave it all off.

It's happened before.

" _No, not the Bieber hair. The curly one,_ " Edith says. " _Harry?_ "

" _Harry,_ " Konnie confirms.

Harry feels Louis squeeze his arms around him. His mother gives him a proud look from across the table. Harry himself would have been quite happy if they'd kept talking about Liam.

" _Harry does have a voice. I did quite like his headband, too,_ " Edith says.

" _So that's a no on the white vest but a yes on the headband, then?_ " Konnie asks. " _You know, I don't think Louis Walsh agreed with you, there. But you do have hordes of teenage girls in the UK who will take your side on the headband debate if the texts we'd got this weekend are anything to go by._ "

"Why does everyone so obsessed about a bloody headband?" Zayn mutters.

"Good luck figuring that one out," Harry tells him.

" _Louis, that's it,_ " Alan says suddenly. " _I knew there was a reason I should have remembered the name. He's the one who really made that song._ "

" _Louis?_ " Konnie asks, looking puzzled. Then she laughs. " _Oh, you mean, Louis in One Direction? He was the one you were talking about then? Not Harry? Or Liam?_ "

" _Well, those two are both brilliant. They all are, I have to admit. I feel like we're teenage girls choosing our favorite boybander right now._ " Alan gives the others a rueful smile. " _But Louis, he was the one who made me believe in the song. And that's the X Factor right there, isn't that what it comes down to?_ "

 

 

"Why does Harry look like that?"

Harry turns away from the TV to see their missing fifth boybander sauntering up to the table.

"Looking like what? What does he look like?" Louis asks. He steps back and pushes at Harry's shoulders to make him turn around. His eyes soften when he sees Harry. "Oh, you're smiling."

He presses a finger over Harry's cheek, where Harry is sure there's probably a dimple showing right now. 

"Harry's smiling because they said we have the X Factor," Louis turns back to inform Niall.

"Because they just said _Louis_ has the X Factor," Liam corrects. There's no resentment in his voice, though.

"They said we have the X Factor," Harry says. He turns back to Louis and bites his lip. " _And_ they said Louis has the X Factor. Of course I'm smiling."

"This is another thing that didn't happen at all eight years ago, isn't it, Harry?" his mother asks. There's a sympathetic crease to her brow.

"Yeah, we sang a different song last time," Zayn tells her. "You Are So Beautiful?"

"It still couldn't have happened," Niall says.

"They wouldn't have all been talking about how passionate Louis sang it," his mother says.

"But Louis already knew how to sing like he was crying," Zayn says. "Harry said Louis was the one who tried to teach him how to do it."

"Sure, but it wouldn't have mattered how he sang it, would it have?" Niall says, a false ease to his voice. "Not with his mic off for the whole competition."

There's a moment of silence.

"Right," Zayn says. "Shit."

Louis narrows his eyes at Niall's pointed look.

" _... so who's your pick for the top, Edith?_ " Konnie is asking on the TV behind them.

" _I think One Direction, Matt and Rebecca for the final._ "

" _Would you concur with that, Alan?_ "

Louis finally looks away from Niall and sighs. "Well, I might've known a trick or two, but no matter the volume on my mic, hardly anyone would be listening to me if it wasn't for this lad here." 

He gives Harry's mother a smile as he nudges Harry.

"Lou, that's not true." Harry frowns at him.

"How many times 'ave you stayed up almost all night working with me, then?" Louis asks.

Harry catches his mother raising her eyebrows and he groans. " _Mum_ , not like _that_."

" _Next up after the break,_ " Konnie is saying. " _The contestants occasionally shy away from probing questions, but there's one man whose job it is to make them talk. He wears a long anorak, his voice is as deep as the ocean, and I've never seen his eyes but I imagine them to a piercing blue with a flash of steel. It's the... X-Terrogator._ "

 

 

Robin comes to collect Harry's mother. Harry dismisses their offers to drive him and one or two of the other boys back to the house and shoos them off since it's late enough already for the drive back up North.

The Xtra Factor playing on the TV next to them is probably only half-over and the after-party isn't dying down quite yet. The lights are dimmed, the music is getting louder, the bar's still busy. There's an impromptu dance party starting on the other side of the room. 

But none of the other boys seem to be any more in the mood for it than Harry is.

Louis and Zayn go off to check on their ride. Liam has left to say good-bye to his own parents. And Niall is — being handed a beer from the bartender. Harry looks at him in offense when he rejoins him at the table.

"How did you get him to serve you?" he asks.

Niall shrugs. "I'm Irish."

"That doesn't even make sense."

Though, after years bearing witness to it, Harry should probably be less surprised at Niall's particular magic when it comes to these things.

Niall takes a long drink, then offers the mug to Harry.

 _"Who is the flirtiest in the house?"_ comes the detective's distorted voice from on-screen, catching Harry's attention.

He knows that the segment had been posted online a few days ago, but Harry still had trouble believing it. He passes Niall's beer back to him and turns to the TV. He's distractedly aware of Niall being pulled off to settle some debate between Cher and Matt.

_"You know, I used to think it was Harry. But I think it's actually Zayn."_

_"Absolutely Zayn."_

_"Zayn. He's got that soulful R &B kind of vibe."_

Harry presses his fist to his mouth. He thinks about how Louis had gone downstairs after talking to him the other morning. How he'd not just recognized two of the problems for Harry and Zayn, but he'd made a scheme and enlisted the other boys to carry it out all while Harry had been waiting for the shower — which had apparently been empty — to free up.

 _"Well, used to think it was this lad who was the flirty one,"_ on-screen Louis says. He looks up at on-screen Harry and there's a sigh in his voice but a fond smile on his lips. _"But turns out it was just these deceitful curls. And these cheeky dimples."_ On-screen Louis looks at on-screen Zayn and says, _"There's no question, the flirtiest is actually this one 'ere."_

_"Yeah, girls are always going right for him."_

_"And the other way around."_

_"Definitely the other way around."_

Harry shakes his head at on-screen Zayn's smirk. They'll see what happens with their images from here on. But for tonight they seem to still be getting away with switching Harry and Zayn's roles around.

Louis, honestly, never ceases to stun him.

Harry had known from the day they'd met at the open auditions that he was brilliant and clever and funny and kind and fit and charming and — well, probably every good adjective that existed. He's sure if he asked Gemma she would happily regale him with a full accounting.

He is still everything Harry had believed him to be at sixteen. And he's also more complicated than anything Harry could have imagined.

He's tender and warm and caring but he also knows how to push people's buttons — and does it all the fucking time.

Harry's seen him refuse to apologize when he's wrong and refuse to forgive when he's right. He's seen him lash out at people who don't deserve it and he's seen him lay himself on the line for a stranger. He's seen him take his protective streak more than one step over the line.

He's seen Louis make the world laugh and he's seen his sarcasm cut as sharp as a knife. He's seen him petty and demanding and selfish and stroppy. He's seen him loud and charming and brittle and insecure. 

He's seen him scared and he's seen him broken and he's also seen him _so_. _fucking_. _brave_.

"... Harry?"

Harry startles to find Louis next to him.

"Are you alright, there?"

Harry blinks. 

"M'fine, it's just." He gestures to the TV in explanation. 

"Ah, yes, those rapping dairy farmers," Louis says, nodding sagely. "They get to me, too."

Harry frowns at the TV. Then back at Louis and the beautiful blue eyes focused on him in the dark of the bar.

"So they said if we wait in the back reception, they might come collect us early. Lads are already there."

 

 

" _And what a surprise. Zayn is the flirtiest. Ugh. That was just too expected._ " 

The adverts cut to Konnie's voice just as he and Louis come across the other boys sitting at the end of the hallway to the back exit. No one's at the reception desk and the lights are dimmed but The Xtra Factor's still playing on the TV on the other wall.

" _Anyways,_ " Konnie is saying as Harry settles down between Liam and Louis on the floor. _If you think the student riots are bad, you should see what it's like at one of our next guests' gigs. He's our favorite pint-sized popstar — It's Justin Bieber, everyone!_

It's colder, out here. Through the glass door, Harry can see the light snow falling under the security light.

Louis is rubbing his hands together, blowing on them for warmth. Harry automatically reaches over and covers Louis' hands with his own. His hands are bigger, and always warmer, than Louis'.

" _Congrats on your performance. Did you enjoy yourself up there on that stage?_ "

" _I had such a great time, it was so much fun performing for that audience._ "

" _Yeah, they're always so up for it, our audience is._ "

Louis lets Harry take his hands and Harry huddles in closer to him. He gently rubs Louis' hands in between his for a bit, and then he twines their fingers together, keeping Louis' hands enfolded in his for warmth.

Louis rests his head on Harry's shoulder and goes quiet beside him.

"Wait, so are you two actually together, then?"

He glances up to see Zayn staring at their joined hands.

"... yes?" Harry says.

"You are?" Liam asks, sounding just as surprised.

"Did the snogging not give you a hint, lads?" Louis asks, straightening back up beside Harry.

"That was real? You really were snogging on the stairs?" Niall asks interestedly.

"What, you think Harry's mum is in the habit of making up stories about him having illicit liaisons?"

"I don't know his mother that well," Niall says. "Is she?"

"There are enough stories about that in the papers that she doesn't need to," Harry says. "So, yeah, I'd say it was probably true."

"Huh," Niall says. "So is he a good kisser?"

Harry glances at Louis.

"Which one of us you asking about, pal?" Louis says.

"Must be me. He could've asked me about you a long time ago," Harry says.

"In that case," Louis says, drawing out his breath dramatically. "Passable. To be honest, had expected a _bit_ more with how he's supposed to be so much more experienced, but—"

"Hey." Harry knocks his shoulder into Louis'. He informs Niall, "I am a fantastic kisser. Thank you for asking."

"Is it different? Kissing a boy?" Niall asks.

"Compared to what?" Harry asks. "I mean, it's usually a bit better than kissing girls you're made to get papped with. But nothing's going to live up to my Year 7 Valentine's kiss. Sorry, Lou."

"So, who's on top and who's on bottom?" Niall leans forwards curiously, looking between the two of them. 

Niall asking strange and curious questions about their sex life is pretty much comfortable territory for him. So Harry settles back against Louis even as Louis and Liam tense up on both sides of him and Zayn admonishes him with a sharp, "Niall!"

"What?" Niall asks.

"You can't just ask people that," Zayn says. "That's not how it works. Do you hear them asking you how you like to have sex?"

"They could," Niall says. He turns back to Harry and says, "So, I haven't tried that many positions, but I think my favorite's when the girl's on top—"

"Please stop," Liam says faintly. Harry glances over and it's a bit dim in the hallway but he can still see how red his cheeks are.

Niall tilts his head. "How are you going to learn if we don't talk about it? I reckon watching porn isn't as helpful in figuring it out as you'd think."

"Oh my god, Niall —"

"Anyways," Harry takes pity on Liam. "Niall, Zayn's right. That's not how it works."

"What do you mean, that's not how it works?" Louis demands, pulling back to look at Harry.

Zayn holds up his hand. "Look, can we just take a step back here? How long has this been going on? The two of you?"

It takes Louis a moment, but he finally settles back down next to Harry to say, "What year you counting from, mate?"

Zayn gives him a tired look and says, "This one."

"Then about..." Louis pulls out his phone. "Bit over twenty-four hours, I suppose."

Harry sees Zayn exchange a look with Liam. They seem to be having some sort of silent argument, but neither of them does anything.

He glances back over at the TV.

 

 

" _Now, obviously, you started in the industry when you were very young, just fourteen," Konnie is saying. "How do you cope with the pressure of fame and fortune and autograph signing and all of that?_ "

" _Um. It's awesome._ "

Harry can't stop the bark of a laugh before it comes out. He claps a hand over his mouth.

"What was that, Harry?" Niall laughs.

" _It's amazing. My fans are amazing,_ " Justin is saying. " _I love what I do. Every minute of it, every second—_ "

"Sorry," Harry mumbles. "It's not fair. He's so, so young and he started this two years ago. It's not funny at all. I don't know why I laughed."

"What isn't?" Louis asks.

"He just, er. He just doesn't copes with it well at all. I mean, look at him right now, he doesn't look like he's coping very well here tonight," Harry says. "I mean, he's still, like, popular. But in a few years, even his own fans aren't his biggest... er, fans, anymore."

"Huh," Liam says.

Harry drawing his knees up to his chest. "If you think about it, I'm barely older than him. It might've been me, if I hadn't had you guys. I can't imagine having done this all alone from the beginning."

There's a moment of silence, with the other boys just watching him.

"You were barely younger than the rest of us," Niall points out finally.

And Louis says, "I'm sure you're nothing like him." He twirls one of Harry's curls between his fingers. "You probably couldn't even get his haircut if you tried, could you?"

"Well," Harry says. "Not with the quality of hair products in this place." 

" _You know, I think you'd actually be too young to be a contestant on this show this year. What was it like performing in front of judges? Like Simon Cowell and Cheryl Cole?_ " Konnie is saying from the TV.

" _Simon, I watched him on American Idol all the time. So it's cool. And, you know, Cheryl Cole, she's beautiful._ "

Harry catches Justin Bieber's face on the TV, smile fixed in place on his young, young face.

" _She is gorgeous,_ " Konnie says indulgently.

"I don't get why he has to keep flirting with Cheryl Cole, though," Liam mutters.

"Did that look like flirting to you?" Harry asks.

"What else would you call it?"

"Being told you have to act like you're interested in someone to get publicity for the both of you?" Harry says, raising an eyebrow.

"But she's twenty-seven and he's sixteen. No one would believe she'd be interested in him, anyways," Liam says.

Harry resists the urge to comment on the fact that that sort of age difference isn't something Cheryl will bat her eyes at a few years from now.

Instead, he just says, "When I'm seventeen next year I'm meant to have a fling with the woman who takes Konnie's place. She was fifteen years older than me."

"You're serious?" Liam says.

"Harry already told us he was set up with women twice his age, remember?" Zayn tells him.

Harry nods.

Louis shifts around to face him. "People really believed that, though?"

"I mean, remember how I told you I was kind of shit at these kinds of stunts?" Harry says.

The memory of that particular one doesn't actually have the sting it did just a few days ago when he was telling Louis about that year.

Maybe it's because he's just been told by a not particularly interested twelve year old girl that he does have the power to change the future for this boy beside him.

It makes him think about what Louis said the other night. Maybe he can't bring himself to think the world is so terrible a place right now, either.

He even laughs a little as he turns to the other boys and says, "So, I'm, like, the womanizer in this band, right?"

"Not anymore," Louis says.

"Right, maybe not anymore," Harry allows. "I definitely was, though. And I was supposed to have a big crush on this woman. To, like, get her publicity and get us publicity and mostly to get publicity for The X Factor next year. So it was all over the papers. I was meant to talk about it in interviews, too, but I kept getting it wrong and then they'd have to cut those parts out when it went live."

He shakes his head at himself. "Finally, our management settled on me just saying she was hot. Like, just once on camera and I wouldn't have to say anything else again. They'd get the interviewer to change the topic after that and that would be it."

"Okay?" Liam says.

"So the interviewer asked me about her. And I kind of rambled a little bit, not really getting to the point," he says.

"I can't ever imagine that," Louis says. "Could you demonstrate for us?"

Harry tries to kick him in the leg, but seeing as they're pressed up against each other, it ends up being more of an affectionate nudge with the tip of his purple trainers.

"I _did_ get to the point, though," Harry says.

"Did you really?"

"I did. I said that she was really hot." Harry can't help but laugh again. He can see the other boys looking at him like he's crazy but he can't bring himself to care. "Um, then I looked up at you, Lou. And you nodded and looked at me like you were proud of me."

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"I mean, obviously you'd hated that I had to do it," he says. "But we'd practiced it at least ten times and you'd promised me at least twice that many times that your feelings wouldn't be hurt. And now I'd finally got through it and we could be done with it. And then..."

"And then?" Louis says.

"And then I say, so's Louis," Harry says.

"What?" Niall exclaims with a sudden laugh. " _Why_?"

"Oh my god, I don't even know." Harry laughs. "You should've seen the look on Louis' face, though. You should've seen the look on our handler's face."

"So no one bought it, then, anyways," Liam says.

"Oh, no, they still bought it," Harry says.

"But you just said —"

"I mean." Harry shrugs. "What was my point again?"

Louis' lips twist up a little. "That you don't think our idol Justin Bieber actually thinks Cheryl Cole's hot."

"Right," Harry says with a nod. "Point proven, then."

"Er, maybe." Louis rubs his thumb over the side of Harry's hand.

" _Yeah, all my friends are very proud of me. Very supportive. And, uh, they're awesome,_ " Justin is saying on the TV.

" _Well, you're awesome as well!_ " Konnie gestures to the crowd. " _Everyone, Justin Bieber!_ "

When Justin smiles at the crowd, it's obvious — to Harry at least — that it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

" _Aw, we love him. Time for another break right now, but stay with us because we've still got a lot more drama to come," she says. "I'm going to be chatting to Nicole Scherzinger and tonight's losing acts. We'll see you again in a few moments._ "

 

 

"Didn't you say our car was going to be here soon?" Liam asks, stretching his legs out into the hallway. "Are you sure we're at the right place?"

"I'm sure we're at the right place, Payno," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "Ask Zayn, if you don't believe me. He was there."

Zayn sighs and looks up at the ceiling and says in a bored voice, "Yes, we're in the right place. Yes, they said soon. Yes, it's getting cold as fuck in here."

" _You're looking beautiful as always," Konnie says on the TV. "You know someone's stunning if they can rock a fringe and you can. Brilliant performance by the way._ "

" _Oh, thank you._ " Nicole Scherzinger gives her a shy smile.

Harry glances outside the doors at the light pile of snow slowly accumulating on the ground. He rests his cheek on top of his knees and looks at Louis. Louis is tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands for warmth. Harry feels a surge of affection. He wishes he'd brought his coat today, so that he could give it to him.

" _And One Direction, they are big fans of you,_ " Konnie is saying on the TV.

" _They are the cutest of all the cuties,_ " Nicole says.

" _And they were partly your doing, isn't it? Putting our little band together when they failed to progress in bootcamp._ " Konnie leads the audience in clapping for her. " _Yeah, high five, sister, amazing._ "

" _I'm not going to take credit,_ " Nicole says, shaking her head with a smile. " _I mean, I did tell Simon to do it, but I'm not going to take credit._ "

" _It was a joint decision,_ " Konnie says, nodding sagely.

" _It was a joint decision,_ " Nicole agrees. " _When I told Simon to put them together._ "

" _They could be a global phenomenon, though, don't you think?_ " Konnie says.

" _Definitely,_ " Nicole says. " _It's, like, five little Justin Biebers._ "

Harry hears Liam groan next to him.

"You know," he says thoughtfully. "I think I might've had a fling with Nicole for a while, too."

"Seriously? You had an affair with a woman who compared you to Justin Bieber?" Niall asks with a laugh. "Is there anyone you didn't sleep with?"

"I had to meet my four hundred a year quota."

"So that's a no, then," Louis says, knocking his shoulder into his.

"Actually," Zayn says suddenly, clearing his throat. "That's sort of what we wanted to talk to you both about."

"You want to talk about Nicole Scherzinger?" Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. "Or Harry's general fetish for women who happen to be associated with The X Factor?

Harry laughs.

"No," Zayn says. Then, "I mean, maybe. I don't know."

Harry turns to Zayn but before he can catch his eyes, Zayn drops his gaze to where he's fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"What is it, Z?" he asks.

"Oh," Niall says. "We're doing this now, then?"

"Doing what when?" Louis asks.

"We, er," Zayn tries.

"The three of us were talking about the future of the band, right?" Liam takes over.

"Right," Louis says, sobering.

"We all want there to be one," Liam says, straightening up where he's seated.

"Yeah," Niall says.

Harry glances around at the three of them. Liam's staring back at him. Niall is still nodding his agreement. Zayn is still looking down.

"Do you want that, Zayn?" Harry asks. "Even with everything I told you last night?"

Zayn looks up briefly and nods.

"Okay, that's good?" Harry reaches over and squeezes Louis' arm. "You do know that's what Louis and I want, too, yeah?"

"Yes. But the thing is, we have a condition, though," Liam says.

"A condition," Louis repeats.

On the TV, Konnie says, " _And now, every week, we have been delving into the backgrounds of one of our acts. So far we've discovered that Cher has drawers full of human hair in her house, Mary's till is now a shrine back at the supermarket, and Wagner has a massive pair of bongos. What will we find out this week in Rebecca Ferguson's house? Stay tuned after the break._ "

By the time the dairy farmers start rapping again — and, seriously, how much did they _pay_ for these advert spots? — Harry is starting to worry a bit. He can feel Louis' impatience ticking up and he knows that he's been thinking along the same lines Harry is when he tells boys flatly, "Harry and I are not breaking up."

"What?" Niall says. "We would never want — look, we didn't even really think you were together until just now."

"If that's not it, though, then what is?" Harry asks, looking between Liam and Zayn.

Zayn takes a deep breath and finally looks up from his hands.

"Look," he says. "We know this is a shit thing to ask. Like, it's not okay at all to ask. Let alone to, you know, demand it like this. It makes us just as bad as them."

"But the alternative isn't one any of us are willing to choose," Liam finishes.

Louis interrupts impatiently, "Just get on with it already, lads."

"We need you to come out," Zayn says.

Harry stares at him.

"We need both of you to be come out," Zayn repeats, meeting Harry's eyes steadily this time.

"Mate—" Louis starts.

Zayn looks over at him and continues, "Publicly. So that no one can ever make you lie about it again."

"We're not in otherwise," Liam says. He's looking at Harry beseechingly.

Harry feels his heart start to beat a little faster in his chest.

"Li," he begins.

"I'm sorry," Liam tells him. "I really wish we didn't have to say this."

"Why, though?" Harry asks. "Why do you think you have to say it?"

"Harry, look," Zayn says. "Remember the other day at Wembley?"

Harry looks at him incredulously. "You mean, because I said that all these things wouldn't have happened if I wasn't gay? That's why you're doing this? Even I knew that was wrong as soon as I heard myself say it."

He feels Louis' hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"No, that's not why. Well, part of it. Just." Zayn looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. He looks very young but also resolute. "What it's about is how we knew you were telling the story wrong. And we knew because it wasn't making any sense."

"What are you talking about?"

They're interrupted by screams of excited children on the TV. Harry glances up as a young man beckons the camera inside a Liverpool semi. " _This is Ellie and this is Oliver. I'm Rebecca's brother Matt. Come on in, I'll show you around._ "

Zayn starts again, saying, "Harry, when you got here, how did you plan to fix things?"

"You mean when I woke up eight years in the past and fell off the bunkbed? I didn't have a _plan_ ," Harry says. "I didn't think it was real to begin with. Would you have?"

"You did, though. Your plan was to stay away from Louis, remember?" Niall says, sounding a bit personally offended by that.

"Well, yeah," Harry says.

"Remember the way you were avoiding him whenever there was a camera around?" Niall continues. "I even had to ask you if you were worried people might think you fancied lads. You'd seemed like a good lad up til then but we might've had a problem if it turned out you —"

"Yes, Niall, I remember that conversation."

"Well, I don't — what did you say to Harry?" Louis demands.

"I'll tell you later," Harry says. "What's your point, though, guys?"

"Er, that, actually," Liam says.

"That I'm homophobic," Harry says flatly.

"No," Liam protests. "No one thinks that."

"It's just, like, there were other things you could've thought of," Zayn says. "You could've refused to lie about any of it to begin with? Or not sign the contracts that said you couldn't ever come out? Or, like, you keep saying there are no gay boys in boybands — I mean, don't be in a boyband, then. But instead you just decided to stay away from Louis."

"It's not like I didn't think about all those things," Harry says. "I'm not stupid. I just didn't want to ruin all this for Louis or the rest of you guys."

"But none of us wants that," Liam cuts in. "With how things got in the future." He looks at Louis. "Or what Simon's been doing with Louis? It's just not worth it."

"There are other ways, though," Harry starts.

"Are there really, though, Harry?" Louis speaks up.

Harry turns to him in surprise.

"Look." Louis glares around at the other boys. "I'm not saying I'm okay with these lads trying to give us some sort of ultimatum when we could've just had a discussion about it, but —"

"You mean like the discussion we had at the beginning when you told us that Simon was going to turn your mic off because he thought you were gay?" Zayn asks, more than a little resentment coming through in his voice. "Except we didn't have that discussion, did we? Because you never told us."

"Well, with the way you lads have all reacted to that, I was right not to, wasn't I?" Louis says.

"We deserved a choice," Niall says, with a stubborn jut of his jaw.

"And you were never going to give us one _ever_ ," Zayn says.

"And so you're going to do the same thing, then?" Louis demands. "These are _our_ lives here, mate—"

"It's not just your—"

Liam throws his arms up and says loudly, "Guys." Zayn and Niall stop talking to look at him. "Did you both miss that Louis just agreed with us? Or would you rather keep arguing?"

There's a moment's silence where they seem to process that. Harry looks back at Louis.

"You agree?" Harry asks when he doesn't protest Liam's assessment.

Louis tilts his head. "I thought this was the way things were headed for a while now, Haz. Reckoned you thought that, too." He peers at him. "Did you really not?"

"I—" Harry bites his lip. "I don't know. But, Lou, are you really okay with coming out? Just like that? You've never even — I mean, Jay doesn't even know."

"Well, it'd be nice to give me mum some notice," Louis says. "But she's been favoriting tweets all day about this bloke called Larry, so I don't reckon it'll go over too poorly."

"It won't," Harry tells him. "I promise that part won't."

Louis leans forwards, a little closer to him.

"Harry, when we talked yesterday, I wasn't just saying yes to snogging you on the stairs — as lovely as that was, at least until your mum came by," Louis says, smiling a little. "But you did your best to paint a pretty dire picture of what loving you would be like. I was saying yes to all of it, you know."

Harry searches his eyes. Louis is looking back at him steadily — maybe a little nervous, but steady. Harry knows that their eight-year role reversal should have him doubting that this boy, still weeks shy of being nineteen, can mean something like that. 

But he's also looking at a man who, at exactly this same age, had known the cost and had chosen to love him, too. And then been completely and utterly devoted to him for years until — well, until Harry told him to stop.

He's not going to pretend that Louis doesn't know what he's saying.

So he just blinks away the wetness threatening to come to his eyes and nods. 

He stands up to pace over to the door.

On the TV, Konnie's cheering, " _It's our Xtra Experts, yay! Brian, by the way, congratulations. Amazing choreography and direction for all the acts this week._ "

Harry pinches his bottom lip between his fingers as he watches the flakes of snow drifting down in the orange security light.

" _Can you tell us what we can expect of next week?_ "

" _I can... But I'll lose my job,_ " he hears Brian's say with his distinct American accent. There's laughter in the background. " _What I can say is that one of the two songs that they'll be singing is definitely going to be an up-tempo, fun song so I get five big performances next week and that makes me very happy._ "

Harry finally turns back to the other boys, who've been quiet this whole time, and says, "I'm not saying I don't want to come out. I mean, I've kind of spent years fantasizing about what that would be like, you know?"

Louis offers him a tentative smile.

"You have to know this might not work, though," he tells them.

"We know it's going to be harder," Liam starts. "It might take more work—"

"It took almost everything from us last time, Li," Harry says. "You heard what I told you last night. There aren't enough hours in the next five years for you guys to give more than you already gave."

"Maybe we won't be as successful, then, but—"

"But there are bands that make it work," Niall insists.

Harry shakes his head.

"No. There aren't, Ni," he tries to say gently. "Not if we're talking about big boybands."

"But Westlife."

"This isn't Westlife. And, before you say it, it's not N'Sync. Or Boyzone. Definitely not New Kids on the Block," he tells him. "What you're asking for is not one gay boybander coming out years after the band's already made it. We're talking about two gay boys in a brand-new band. Two boys in a relationship with each other."

He looks around at the rest of them. "Look, the One Direction that sold out Wembley three nights in a row had us in the closet with the door locked very tight."

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

"If we do this, we won't be them. We might do okay here but never break into America, never play a stadium. Or we might not do okay here. We might not even make it past the X Factor tour. In a few months, you could be choosing A levels again and then starting sixth form all while knowing you could've been part of the biggest boyband in the world."

"None of us ever imagined being near that big. It was you who started talking about the Beatles, mate," Zayn says, leaning back against the wall. "You know this wasn't the first year Louis auditioned. Like, was he expecting to get through? And wasn't Liam just happy to make it past Judges' Houses this time? And I would've slept through the auditions if my mother hadn't dragged me out into the car. I might've just been grateful for the extra hour in bed and never would've known any of this was even possible."

Harry's not sure what to say to that.

On the TV, Konnie says, " _Thank you for that Katie. Very wise words. Now, of course Katie wasn't the only person to leave us tonight. We also have to give an extra good send-off to Wagner everyone!_ "

"You don't know we can't make it," Liam speaks up finally. "It might be possible. Our fans might not care."

"And if some of them don't want to listen to our music because you're gay, we don't want them for fans," Zayn adds.

"Some of them seem like they'd like it," Niall says. "We all got those ships, remember? And there's all this stuff on the forums today since Louis sort of sang that song to you last night."

"Niall's right," Liam says. "You and Louis would probably be trending on twitter right now if people could agree on a single tag for the two of you."

"You think Harry doesn't know all that?" Louis says skeptically. "Give the lad a little credit. He knew exactly what he was doing last night, right down to the headband."

"Yeah, I mean," Harry says. He glances at Louis. "Course I knew. And the fans are — well, some of them would be supportive, definitely. Some might not care. Some will care. But it's not really down to them."

"It's down to management," Louis finishes for him.

Harry nods and bites his lip. He supposes if any of them would understand that right now, it would be Louis. "Do you guys know, last time, like, the whole first year of the band, people kept saying Louis was the worst singer in the group?"

"What?" Zayn asks.

"The fans love Louis' voice, though. They keep posting about him," Liam says. "I can't imagine what we'd sound like without him."

Harry catches Louis looking down.

"We'd sound a lot like we did up until Total Eclipse of the Heart," Harry tells them. Then adds, "To be fair, I guess it was hard to tell what any of us sounded like with all the auto-tuning they'd done back then. Actually, have our in-ears got better, too, since then? Because —" He catches himself. "Anyways, the point is, his mic was down so far you could barely hear him for most of The X Factor and then he barely any solo lines on our first album. You can't like someone's voice when you can't hear them sing, can you?"

"And it was Simon who turned down his mic," Liam says slowly.

Harry nods and says, "So, yeah, the fans have to like us in order for this to work. But it's the record labels and management and PR who have to invest in us in order for them to hear us and decide for themselves. And they're still run by old men."

"Like Simon Cowell," Niall says.

"Among many others," Harry says. "And, I mean, Louis Walsh managed Westlife and Boyzone, didn't he? And now he's been sat at the Judges' Desk for the last two months telling us we could be Britain's next big boyband. But, you know, he's also said before that he wouldn't have signed either Feehily or Gately if he'd known they were gay. So."

"So what does that mean?" Louis asks after a moment.

Harry shrugs and says, "It means that, guys, if we do this, you could all just end up with your mics turned off, too."

"If Louis' mic is going to be off, I don't want mine on," Niall says without hesitation.

"Same here," Zayn says.

Liam crosses his arms. "We're the ones who came up with this, remember? We'll just work on projecting more loudly."

"Singing with 'support'," Zayn says dryly. "Sandeep keeps telling me to do that, anyways."

Harry looks back at Louis, who raises his eyebrows at him and shrugs.

" _Thank you to all of our amazing guests. And of course to you at home for watching and calling in with your questions,_ " Konnie says from the TV. " _Just think, at this time next week we will know who is in the final. Make sure you tune in, bye!_ "

 

 

Once they're finally back at the house, Louis picks up an oversized envelope from atop one of the piles of clothing on his bottom bunk.

"Is this what Harry's mother brought you? What is it?" Niall asks interestedly, peering over his shoulder as Louis pulls a stack of paper out from it.

Louis nods, then looks up at Harry. "Here, love, these are yours."

"What would my mum bring you —" He trails off and squints down at the top page.

_I understand that I am being considered as a participant for Series 7 of the television programme entitled "THE X FACTOR", including, but not limited to, the interview, audition and elimination processes..._

This one is just a single page, front and back, in small print. It's crinkled at the edges. Harry can still remember himself gripping onto it as they queued for hours outside of the Manchester Arena. At the top, it reads "THE X FACTOR Series 7 Audition Agreement".

He hands it to the other boys silently. The next packet of papers, "THE X FACTOR Series 7 Participant Agreement", is several pages longer. He passes it along, too, and looks at the last packet: "THE X FACTOR Series 7 Live Show Agreement". It's at least twice as thick.

He pages through it, eyes catching on _Agreement to Comply... Name and Likeness... Photographs, Film, Audio and Video Recordings... Hidden and Discreet Cameras... Separation from Family and Friends... Mental and Physical Stress... Falsification... Disqualification... Assumption of Risk... Indemnity... Unconditional and Irrevocable Rights... ITV plc... Syco Entertainment Ltd... Sony Music Ltd... Modest! Management Ltd... Simon Cowell... Harry Edward Styles._

Harry Edward Styles.  
Date of birth: 1 February 1994  
Audition City: Manchester  
Audition Date: 10 July 2010

Below it are the young, not-yet-perfected loops of 16 year old Harry Styles' signature. Then the more elegant curves of his mother's name and the date, 30 Sept 2010.

He glances up at Louis and the other boys.

"I'd already forgot how long these contracts were," Zayn says, handing the one in his hand back to Louis.

"Did you ever read it?" Liam asks.

"I wouldn't understand half the words even if I tried, mate."

"I was going to sign no matter what, so it didn't matter what it said," Niall tells them with a shrug.

"And I reckoned my parents wouldn't have signed if there was something bad in it," Liam says.

"Honestly, I've never read these, either," Harry says. He passes the one he's holding back to Louis. "Robin might've helped my mother look it over, but I don't think either of them really know what's in here."

"What is in there, then?" Zayn asks Louis.

"You think I know?" Louis peers at the contracts in his hands. "I just failed me A levels, lads. I might've been the only one of us who didn't need parent supervision to do it, but I still just signed where it said to."

There's a moment of quiet while Louis stuffs them back into the envelope. 

"You know," Harry says. "This is the kind of thinking that gets you an obligation for five albums in five years and as many tour dates as they can squeeze in between." He frowns. "Plus four fragrances, three books and a movie you have to promote. And a few weeks with Taylor Swift that no one will ever, ever let you forget."

"I like Taylor Swift," Niall contributes.

"Then we'll let her dedicate an album to you this time, instead," Harry says dryly.

"This time?" Louis asks. "Are we doing this, then, Curly?"

Harry glances up at him, then looks around at the other boys. 

Harry laughs a little, shaking his head. He says, "God, I really have no fucking clue if it'll work."

"Want to find out, though?" Louis asks, waggling his eyebrows.

"I—" 

"Come be a gay boy in a boyband with us?"

Harry looks around at all the other boys watching them, then finally meets Louis' eyes, blue and hopeful and crinkled at the edges, like he already knows what the answer is and he's just waiting for Harry to say it.

"Yeah," Harry says, and then smiles. "Yeah, I kind of do."

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Results Show - ["Two acts will be leaving the competition tonight..."](https://youtu.be/K0Sidwe9blk?t=51)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the televised dialogue is taken directly from the actual show (edited and cut down), but almost everything concerning One Direction is different because, well, time travel. :) Thank you to the posters on youtube (especially the link above) for making the footage available.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry has leafed through his old diaries more than once in the past years, looking for inspiration, a word or phrase he now knows how to turn into something more.

The first dozen pages of this one are filled with words scribbled in various different colored pens, some glitter, some pencil. Some are crossed out. Some are underlined. Some are drawn over until they're almost black.

He recognizes all these pages.

It's the empty ones he's not used to.

He'd run out of pages a couple of weeks into The X Factor Tour and had scribbled words into all the margins, skipped lines, any whitespace he could find.

All those words are missing, too.

And with their absence is the knowledge that all the words in the many diaries that became the sequels to this one, are also missing.

Where sixteen-year-old Harry Styles' handwriting ends, it shifts to a smaller, darker, more compact scrawl. There aren't any fanciful ideas in this writing. Certainly no glitter. Just lists of songs and other things he's tried to remember from 2010.

The pages that follow are blank as his own bare skin.

Memories he'd preserved in ink under his skin, in pen on paper, things he'd never wanted to forget, are missing, forgotten.

All the words he couldn't say out loud, the words he's shouted in diaries, in lyrics, in the ink underneath his skin. There's a real prospect of a different future before him and it's finally sinking in that those words are going to go unsaid.

"You okay, Hazza?"

Harry glances up at him, then back at the diary in his hand. He tosses it onto a pile on the bottom bunk and shakes his head at himself.

"I'm just being maudlin," he tells Louis.

Louis leans back against the post of the bunkbed and raises his eyebrows.

Harry gestures to the diary. "Half of it's blank. My skin's blank. It's, like, your life shouldn't be as easy to erase as a whiteboard, you know?"

Louis tilts his head, giving him a thoughtful look.

"It's stupid. It's _fine_ ," Harry reassures him. "I'm happy to be here, I promise. I'm glad that a lot of those words are unwritten."

"C'mere."

Harry shuffles forwards and Louis takes his arm. He gently pushes up the sleeve of Harry's hoodie.

"Did you have a tattoo here?" he asks.

Harry nods.

Louis traces over the smooth, blank skin of his forearm with his fingers. Harry has seen these same delicate hands on his arm before, so many times.

"What was it of?" Louis asks.

"Which one?"

"Which one?" The corner of Louis' mouth quirks up. "How many tattoos did you have on this arm?"

"Um. Not sure," Harry says. "There weren't as many on the other one."

Louis laughs. "Should've started there, then."

Harry looks down at Louis' fingers on his arm again. He takes his hand and repositions his fingers over the back of his bony wrist.

"There was one here," he says.

"What was it?"

Harry opens his mouth but he's interrupted by Niall's yell, "Car's here!"

Louis gives Harry a wry smile. "Er, I actually came here to tell you the car's on the way. Apparently it's here now."

Harry laughs. 

"It's okay. Fourteen months and I'll be eighteen again," he says. "Then I can get new tattoos."

Louis hums and traces the ghost of the tattoo over Harry's wrist.

"You know, you're eighteen now..." Harry says meaningfully.

"No tattoos, Harold," Louis says sternly.

"Okay," Harry says indulgently. He takes a step closer and Louis runs his hand gently up Harry's arm, over the scarf knotted around his neck, to his jaw.

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

Harry holds his blue eyes for a long moment. Then Louis leans in and closes the gap between them with a kiss. Harry's lips part, pliant for him.

Louis pulls away and rests his forehead on Harry's.

"God, you're really—"

"Passable?"

"Passable, yeah."

Harry pulls back to see Louis giving him a fond smile.

"I can be a blank slate for a bit, Lou," Harry tells him. "It's more than worth it."

"We'll make it worth it," Louis promises. He taps on the side of Harry's forehead. "And you're not a blank slate, are you, love? Going to have this new scar already."

 

 

Harry hears Matt's voice as they approach the lounge. He sounds like he's reading something off.

" _Elton told wannabes like Mary Byrne, Matt Cardle and Cher Lloyd that even if they win, they risk being chewed up and spat out when the next contender comes along._ "

Harry steps into the room. Matt's sprawled on the sofa with his phone out, reading to Rebecca and Mary.

"Speaking to Absolute Radio DJ Christian O’Connell he said: 'What's the psychological damage going to be when you've humped and dumped them, and the next one comes along? They're a bit like products.'"

Rebecca has her brow knitted in consternation.

"'The record comes out at Christmas, and it's always number one, and then what happens next year?'" Matt continues. "'Why aren't they touring? Who's managing these people? Why aren't you building their career properly?'"

Harry feels Louis nudging at his back.

"'I don't hate The X Factor. I hate what happens to people's careers,'" Matt finishes.

"Do you reckon that's true?" Rebecca asks.

"Think he's just jealous," Mary says.

"Elton John's jealous?" Matt asks, arching a brow at her.

Mary laughs.

Harry takes in Matt and Rebecca on the sofa and feels heavy with the knowledge of their particular future.

"What's that from?" he asks.

Matt looks up, looking surprised to see him there. "Daily Star. But, Hazza, don't worry. I'm sure he's just being dramatic. They say something like this every year." 

"Right," Harry says, biting his lip.

"Ready?" Louis asks, nudging Harry again. It's then that Matt catches sight of him and his eyes narrow.

"What are you two up to?" he demands.

"Just minding our own business," Louis says airily.

Harry glances back, puzzled, to see Matt's suspicious glare follow them out of the room.

 

 

They join the other boys just as Cheryl Cole bursts in the front door.

"Here," she says, shoving a small box into Liam's arms. "Meet me in the practice room. I'll be right there."

"Um," Liam says.

The box, it turns out, contains five plump white mushrooms.

"Which one's me?" Zayn asks, picking one up. The pasted-on googly eyes roll at him.

Harry peers at it and says, "These were easier to tell apart when they had hair."

"You mean instead of fake spiders on top?" Liam asks.

"You're sure they're fake?" Niall asks faintly.

Louis reaches over Liam's shoulder and pokes at the one he's holding. "Either fake or dead. Good enough for you, Nialler?"

Niall steps backwards.

"This happened last time, too?" Liam asks Harry.

He nods. 

"Was our first weird fan present." Harry thinks about it. "After all the carrots."

"And they had hair before," Liam clarifies.

"Instead of spiders," Zayn says.

Harry nods.

"Must be nice to see you're making a real, positive impact on this timeline, Harold," Louis says. He plucks off one of the plastic — hopefully plastic — spiders and throws it at Niall.

Niall shrieks and hides behind Zayn.

Zayn rolls his eyes.

A camera crew comes in the door, then. Harry asks the camerawoman how her son's piano recital went this weekend and after they chat for a minute, she picks up the camera and asks all of them to look anxious and concerned.

It's to all their credit, Harry thinks, that they don't question it, just make their concerned way through the house to the practice rooms.

As they pass by Matt again, he gives them another narrow-eyed look.

"Um," Harry whispers to the boys once they've made it to the practice room. "Is there a particular reason for the dirty look Matt's giving us?"

"Louis' going to pull a prank on him today," Liam says out loud, with the tone of someone tattling on a classmate.

"Okay?" Harry turns to Louis. "What prank? And why does Matt know already?"

"Matt got a note this morning warning him _someone_ was going to prank him today. Honestly, I don't know why everyone thinks I'm involved. I'm quite offended," Louis says.

"Morning, boys." Cheryl enters the room and positions herself in front of the cameras. She says somberly, "I have some bad news for you."

 

 

Harry should have remembered this.

This is the week Simon had been ill and Cheryl had taken over as their mentor. Last time Harry remembers half the house, including him, had been sick, too, and he'd had his first ever experience walking around with a vocal rest sign around his neck.

At least that part is different this time around.

The cameras get their obligatory distressed-at-not-having-a-mentor clips and Cheryl's gracious and generous assurance that she will take his place. Then, after it turns out the waves of her hair weren't falling quite right over her shoulder, they get a second take of gracious and generous assurance that she will be their mentor this week.

Once the cameras leave them alone, Cheryl looks around at them all thoughtfully.

They're sitting in a circle, without quite enough chairs. So Harry's sitting in front of Louis, getting his curls played with, and Niall's sprawled out next to him on the floor.

"Do y'know, you're the cause of three twitter trends this past week alone?" she asks, voice softer, more lilting now that the cameras are off them.

They glance around at each other.

"There's the spiders," Zayn says, not looking particularly happy as he raises his mushroom with its spider hair in the air.

"Two of them having to do with spiders," she says.

"And the puppy pileup," Liam says. He's sitting forwards in his chair, looking like a schoolboy anxious to please his teacher. And that is a thought Harry immediately wishes he could take back.

"Aye, but it's not just twitter. Do y'know, you have almost as many forum posts as the rest of the acts all together?" she says. "There's people who think you're going to break up because you said you were sad the other night. And then there's all the bromances." There's an amused quirk of her eyebrow as she takes in Harry with Louis' hands still in his hair. "And the headband, Harry, of course. Was there anything else?" She tilts her head. "Ah, right, they did like your songs, too."

Harry's aware he may have overdone it with his attempts to get them fan support this weekend. He glances around at the other boys, who all seem a bit confused at the opening here. Except Liam who looks like he's about to —

"I'm sorry," he says. Yes, about to apologize.

"You're doing well, boys," she tells them. "Why apologize for that? I am impressed with you, is my point. You have the girls of the UK wrapped round yer fingers. Don't know how you managed that even with Simon as your mentor," she gives them a small smile. "We do need to figure out how you're going to keep them there."

She re-crosses her legs and says, "Now, about the songs for the week."

 

 

"Hey, boys," Sandeep says, entering the practice room, overfilled messenger bag over his shoulder. He stops and looks at Cheryl. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you'd be here so early."

"Wanted extra time to get to know the boys here," she says. "We were just talking about their songs. Zayn had some concerns about Only Girl in the World."

Sandeep gives them a puzzled look as he drops his bag. "What about?"

Zayn says, "It's Rihanna's song. So we'll have to change the lyrics."

"We already did that for you," he says, laughing a little. "Don't worry, I'm not having you say that you're a girl."

"That wasn't the part I was worried about," Zayn says.

Harry feels a gentle tug on his hair and glances up at Louis, who is looking at him with a question on his face. Harry gives him a small smile. Sandeep pulls a stack of papers from his bag and passes the tab sheets around for Only Girl in the World and Chasing Cars.

He drags over the bench from the piano and sits down with them.

"Could we change them to something that isn't he or she?" Niall asks.

Sandeep glances at Cheryl, who is looking somewhere between amused and confused.

"These boys aren't a fan of gender-specific lyrics, it seems," Sandeep explains.

"I think they're fine," Harry says.

Everyone turns to him. Zayn narrows his eyes.

"Not gender-specific lyrics in general," he says. "I mean, I'm with Zayn. It's nice to be more inclusive. But, really, except for Torn, this is probably the first song we're singing that's on-brand for us, isn't it?"

"On... brand?" Sandeep repeats.

"Like a supermarket brand? What are you talking about?" Niall asks with a bit of a laugh.

Harry skims down the paper. "Like, it's in second person, it's about young love, it's something you could dance to. And when Rihanna sings it, it's an empowering song, yeah? But you switch around the right lyrics and it still is, even if it's us singing it. It gives the girl the position of power with us in the position of being powerless. Like, here—" he points to the chorus. " _Keep thinking of me doing what you like_ — Sandeep kept that the same, but then he changed, _Like I'm the only one that's in command_ to _Like you're the only one that's in command_." He looks at the lyrics a little more closely. "You know, even better than that, it celebrates that powerlessness. It's not saying, you're making me feel weak and I resent you for it."

No one's saying anything. When Harry looks up it's to the confused eyes of his bandmates, Cheryl and Sandeep.

He glances at the lyrics again. He doesn't think his assessment's that off base. "I mean, some of these lines could come across as quite possessive, which is problematic, but overall."

Louis is the first to say anything. "Something in there's our supermarket brand, is it, Haz?" 

Harry shifts around to face him. Louis is looking down at him with soft blue eyes. 

"Yeah, I mean. Everyone keeps telling us we need to be boys that girls want as their boyfriends. But if that's all you needed there'd be a lot more successful boybands."

Liam speaks up, "But you were the one who said we needed to look like the boys they have crushes on at school."

"Right, but we're not the boys from their schools, are we? Even if we look like them sometimes?" Harry feels his enthusiasm for the topic take over. "We're just nice and respectful boys who are also loving and fun. Like, we're not going to slut-shame them after a hookup or make them feel unsafe at a party or give them their first broken hearts. While those boys at their schools are doing those things, we're the ones who are singing them love songs."

He glances over at Sandeep and Cheryl, but they still haven't interrupted, so he continues, "Like, sometimes we talk like those girls are stupid. As if we're fooling them into thinking we can be their boyfriends to sell records. Most of them know that's not true, though. They know we're not _real_ , and, I mean, they probably don't even want us to be."

"That doesn't make sense, Harry," Zayn says.

"It doesn't," Liam agrees. "I know you have loads more exper—" He visibly stops himself, glancing over at Cheryl and Sandeep. "Er, just, have you seen those fans waiting for us everywhere? It sure seems like those girls want to be our girlfriends."

"Let him finish, then, lads," Louis says. He looks down at Harry and nudges his side with his foot. "Why don't they want us to be real, Hazza?"

"If you're not real, you can be safe," Sandeep cuts in for the first time.

Harry nods. "Yeah, I mean, the world isn't a very safe place to be a young woman. So if we can give them a place to have fun and feel safe, that's not a small thing. That's why they'll buy our records."

There's a long moment of silence.

"So," Niall says finally. "What you're saying is, you want to do 'Only Girl in the World'?"

"Where did that come from, Harry?" Cheryl is shaking her head at Harry disbelievingly. "Are you sure you're only sixteen, lad?"

"He's just always been so passionate about boy bands," Louis cuts in quickly. "Wanted to be in one since he was a young boy. That was, what, eight years ago, wasn't it?"

Harry nods a distracted agreement.

"About our other song, though," he starts.

 

 

"Sorry, Lou," Harry tells him contritely afterwards.

"You should be," Louis says. He touches his hand to the side of his waist as he brushes past him in the kitchen. "Leaving me alone to cover for your 'remarkably mature understanding of the music market considering you were the one throwing a proper strop over your lines three days ago'."

Harry frowns at Louis as he ducks into the fridge.

"Your American accent's shit, mate," Zayn informs him, biting into his sandwich.

"And Sandeep said it nicer than that, anyways," Niall says.

"Oi, when you boys cover for our resident time traveler, you can complain. But until then..." He hands Harry a bottle of water, then tosses a Lucozade over to Zayn.

"That wasn't what I was saying sorry for, though," Harry tells him. "I was sorry because I said we shouldn't do You Found Me. I know you like The Fray."

They'd started to talk about substitutions for Chasing Cars, but they still hadn't settled on one before Cheryl and Sandeep had to go work with Cher.

"Ah." Louis nudges the fridge door shut as he opens his own drink. "You mean, because I own all their albums, and I spent a year refreshing ticketmaster to see if they were going to play over here, and my cover of Look After You was the first thing I ever uploaded to YouTube?" Louis asks. "Whatever gave you the idea I liked them, love?"

"I have no idea." Harry tries to bite back a smile.

Louis takes a drink and says thoughtfully, "You know, I should probably delete that while I still can."

"What? No," Harry grabs for Louis' wrist and tugs him back when he makes to leave. "Don't delete it. You're going to disappoint all your future fans."

"I was sixteen and I was off the entire fucking song."

"You were brilliant," Harry tells him, utterly sincerely.

Louis eyes him.

"And you were _so close_ to being on pitch," Harry continues. "I mean, it's almost more impressive that you didn't correct —"

"Oi, could've stopped at the 'brilliant', mate," Louis protests, ineffectually trying to tug his arm out of Harry's grip.

"Wow, the songs I sang when I was sixteen..." Niall shakes his head nostalgically as he steals a slice of Harry's apple.

"You mean the songs you sang literally _weeks_ ago?" Zayn asks dryly. "Think I might've heard a couple of those."

Harry turns back to Louis. "If Niall and I deleted everything we sang when we were sixteen where would we be?"

"Not on The X Factor anymore," Zayn says. "They'd have to replace our recaps with 'audio missing'."

"See?" Harry beseeches Louis. "And the song you uploaded is going to get, like, a million hits one day, I promise. People are going to love it."

"Fine." Louis rolls his eyes. "But only because I know you're lying about the million hits."

 

 

Harry sits down on the stairs next to Louis, tries — and fails — not to give Patty a dirty look when she arrives, and announces for the camera: "Hello. This is One Direction and this is our Video Diary Week Nine."

"So, yeah, Justin Bieber was on the show this weekend," Niall is saying a few minutes later. "Afterwards I went to the studio where he was and he said hello to me, which was pretty weird because he's such a big pop star."

"You really met him?" Harry asks, twisting around to look at him. When did Niall even have the time last night?

"Now, this is an interesting question." Liam unfolds the paper in front of him. He gapes at it for a moment, opens his mouth and then instead of reading it out, drops forwards and buries his head in his arms with a groan.

"Er, Liam?" Zayn asks, prodding him on the shoulder cautiously. "You all right, mate?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Liam says. He raises his head and says to Pattie. "It's just — this question."

Zayn takes it from his hands and narrows his eyes at it. "Are you serious?"

Louis turns around and snatches it from his hands. He regards it for a moment. "I agree. That _is_ an interesting one, Payno."

Harry shifts to read it over Louis' shoulder. He only catches the words 'celebrity' before Niall snatches it away.

"How do we answer it?" Zayn asks Harry.

Harry doesn't know how to break it to him that if they make it as a band, they are literally never going to get to stop answering questions about their celebrity crushes. They can blackball it in interviews and they will still get asked.

Before Harry can speak, Pattie is cutting in with, "Boys, what is the problem? Would you like to see the list of suggested answers again?"

"But—" Niall starts.

Harry catches Louis' eye and shakes his head. Louis gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod, then turns around to the other boys.

"We've done this before, haven't we, lads?" He speaks over Niall. "Let's just tell our fans about our undying love for Britney Spears and move onto the next question."

"How many times do we have to tell you boys, Britney Spears is not on the list of artists we'd suggest you mention—"

"Just kidding," Louis says, raising his arms. "Don't worry, I would never betray the love of my life, Simon Cowell."

"Louis—"

"Er, I can go ahead, then," Liam interrupts.

Pattie just gestures up at him.

Liam clears his throat and looks back to the camera. "Now, here's an interesting one. If you could marry any celebrity, who would you marry?"

He glances at Niall, who says, after a beat, "Cheryl Cole."

Zayn goes next, glancing around before saying, "Megan Fox."

"Susan Boyle," Louis says.

He can see from Pattie's expression the warring instincts to make him stop and answer more seriously versus the knowledge she surely has by now that this is the best she's going to get from him.

It's Harry's turn, then. And he had been too busy thinking of other things to think of a good answer, so he blurts out his 2010 go-to, "Frankie Sanford. From the Saturdays."

"And you, Liam?" Pattie asks.

"Um, I'd have to say Leona Lewis," Liam says.

It's not until they're halfway through answering the next question that Harry remembers this video diary from eight years ago.

He's definitely seen it a few times since then. They'd been arranged differently. Louis in the middle of the group. He'd had a — had he been wearing Liam's Superman t-shirt? And Louis had them pass over his turn. Harry had said David Hasselhoff, he thinks. Because it was, technically, a name that had been on their list to use. And then Louis had said, "And I'd marry you, Harry." Harry had turned to him in shock and Louis had added, "Because it rhymes."

Harry feels a little queasy at the thought. It's been a day since they decided to come out of the closet and all they've done is shove themselves further in.

"Harry?"

Harry startles out of his thoughts and looks up at Liam. "What?"

Louis nudges their knees together and tells him, "What is your favorite musical instrument?"

Harry mumbles an answer about piano. Or guitar. Or trombone. He isn't entirely sure. But it must be good enough because Pattie signals to them that it's the end of the questions.

Liam and Zayn go on to clarify that when they said they were sad Saturday about Summer of '69 that was not meant to imply that it was the end of the band after The X Factor and that they are in fact going to stay together forever.

Niall then explains that their apparent collective fear of spiders is completely valid, gingerly touching the ghosts of bruises around his eyes. Louis nods somberly and says they as a group are just trying to raise awareness that spiders kill more people every day than car accidents, and that's not even taking into account the spiders that cause car crashes.

Then Liam launches into the story about the mushrooms they'd received that morning. And that's that.

 

 

When Sandeep and Cheryl are finished meeting up with the other contestants, Harry finds them and they don't even question it when he wants to go over with them a song to replace Chasing Cars with.

The band had sung Grenade on The X Factor Tour and it had gone over well. But when Harry suggests it, Sandeep shakes his head. Apparently it was released barely two months ago and Bruno Mars isn't on Sony, so there isn't a chance they're going to get the rights to it.

Sandeep suggests Jordan Sparks' Tattoo, saying he thinks Simon would be happy with the choice, with Jordan coming out of American Idol.

Tattoo seems a bit on point to Harry today, but he can't disagree with it. Cheryl, however, thinks Simon would be even happier with Katy Perry, and he'd been trying to fit something of hers in this week anyways. And when they go through potential songs of hers, Harry only accidentally mentions one song that came out after 2010, and he thinks he manages to cover for that.

Cheryl likes Hot N Cold but Harry points out the lyrics would be a bit demeaning to girls coming from boys singing it. That's the problem with more than one song, it turns out.

Sandeep makes a joke about doing I Kissed a Girl with their gender-pronoun sensitive group. But Cheryl doesn't laugh and looks at Harry with disconcerting thoughtfulness until Harry makes another suggestion.

By the time Louis comes to drag Harry to an 'emergency band meeting', they've settled on either Firework — it's empowering and they can switch up the verses between them for different sounds — or Teenage Dream — 'I think you're pretty without any makeup on' does have hints of Little Things.

"I'll text Simon's assistant and see what he thinks," Sandeep offers, pulling out his phone. "Unless you want to call him now, Cheryl?"

"You can't think _I_ would have his number," Cheryl asks, arching an eyebrow as she gathers up her bags. When she leaves, it's with an ominous warning that they'll go over their 'dance numbers' in the morning.

Sandeep looks a bit concerned at that and assures them before he leaves that they'll have a discussion with her about her definition of 'dance number'. Then Louis takes Harry's wrist — almost, but not quite, holding hands — and leads him upstairs.

"You know Cheryl in the future, don't you?" Louis asks quietly as they climb the stairs. He slides his hand from his wrist to his back, gently leading him along.

"I know most people from here in the future." Harry realizes this isn't much of an answer, so he adds. "I do know her more than I do most of the other people here." Which is barely even more of an answer. "If you're asking if we can trust her, I mean, I'm sure she's frustrated at not being able to figure us out. But she's as competitive as anyone I've ever met. If she thinks she can show up Simon, she'll get us trending on Twitter four times this week."

"Good to know," Louis says. "I just meant you've been talking to her like you know her."

Harry thinks about it and says, "No, you're right. I've spent more time with her than you'd expect. We're not close, though. I don't think she's the person most people think she is, but I'm still not a —" Harry sighs. They're stopped in the first floor hallway but no one else is around. He meets Louis' confused eyes, then finally gives in and says, "Look, Lou, at the time I came back here, me and you were, from opposite sides of the pond, helping Liam compose tweets to announce that he and Cheryl had broken up after almost three years."

He watches Louis' eyes widen as he takes in what Harry's just said. "Are you saying that our Payno gets to be with his real-life celebrity crush?"

"And I'm saying that he gets to go through a very public, very messy break-up with that real-life celebrity crush."

Louis winces a little. "Are you going to tell him?"

"How would I even?" Harry asks, shoulders slumping down. "I can't just say, you get to be with the woman you've been infatuated with since you were fourteen, and it'll take you three years to accept you'll never be more to her than the rebound from a lifetime's worth of shitty relationships."

Harry runs his hand through his hair.

"And what if it's something I can't change? Like when he sprained his ankle?" he continues. "Or what if it's something I _can_ change but I shouldn't? I mean, as much as any of us would want to disagree with him, I know Liam of 2018 would say it was better to have had the chance to love her, even if it meant losing her."

Louis tilts his head, looking at him. "There's a lot of things like that, aren't there?"

"So many things, Lou," Harry says. "You have no idea. There are things that happen to everyone I know, things that happen in the world. But also, like, a lot more things that happen to the four of you, too."

"Shit." Louis rubs his hand a little, sympathetically, over his lower back. "Things for me, then? More than what you've told me?"

Harry thinks about the phone call he got from Louis a month from now, when they were both back at their houses for the holidays and he and Louis had been spending hours on the phone every night. About the night in particular when Louis had sounded particularly off and eventually told Harry he thought his parents were going to get a divorce.

"If there were, would you want to know?" Harry asks him.

Louis looks at him for a long moment, searchingly, then says, "I don't know."

Harry nods. Then he looks around. "Didn't you say there was an emergency band meeting, though?"

"Oh, yeah," Louis says, brightening up. Instead of leading him back upstairs, though, towards their loft dorm room, he gestures to one of the doors.

Harry frowns at him, a little confused, but pushes open the door to a bedroom, the one that's empty now that so many of the contestants have been sent home.

He flicks the light switch and Louis follows behind him, closing the door behind them.

Harry glances around, then raises his eyebrows at Louis. "A band meeting?"

"For two-fifths of the band," Louis says. And then he follows Harry's eyes around the room and slaps his hand over his face. "Okay, this looks a lot sleazier than I'd meant it to." He turns around, "I promise, I didn't mean—"

Harry giggles and grabs for his arm. "Sure you didn't. C'mere."

Louis doesn't resist too much being dragged back to Harry, but he's still looking endearingly embarrassed.

"Lou, don't look like that," Harry pleads, smiling. "Oh my god, Lou, don't be embarrassed."

"I am only embarrassed for my former self, Harold," Louis says, drawing himself up. "Who was apparently sleazy enough that you would think that of me."

Harry giggles. " _So_ sleazy."

Louis smiles, shaking his head.

"Alright, well, I called this band meeting —" He holds up a hand when Harry starts laughing again. "This legitimate, official—"

"Emergency."

"Yes, emergency band meeting, thank you." Louis nods. "In order to discuss some important topics."

"With two fifths of the band."

He nods. "Gay band members only," he says. "I put a sign on the door."

"Must've missed that," Harry says.

"First item on the agenda," Louis says, crossing his arms as he leans back against the edge of one of the bunkbeds. "Is that those overprotective louts out there will probably out us any day now in the name of protecting us from female pronouns."

"It might go over better if we come up with an actual plan," Harry says. He sits down on the bed across from him.

"So, what's the plan, then?"

"Well, Simon's not going to just let us come out, obviously. Taped footage can be cut. Print, even radio, can be explained away. Twitter can be said to be hacked, or, like, to be a joke taken out of context," Harry says. "Honestly, I think live TV is the only way he won't be able to stop us."

"We do have access to a bit of live TV."

"Yeah, we do," Harry says. He smiles a little. "But we need to figure out how to do it in a way that'll still get us a decent record deal."

"There's one way we can be guaranteed that," Louis says.

Harry looks at him, then says, "Oh, you mean—"

"Guaranteed one million pound recording contract," Louis says. "With everything you know, you could definitely get us to first place. And that'd probably be better than whatever we had last time."

"Last time we got six million," Harry tells him.

Louis stares at him. "So Matt won, and got one million. We lost and got —"

"Six million," Harry says. "I mean, you know we only see a little bit of that, it's for producing and recording and all the other parts. But, yeah, Simon's already pretty invested in us."

Louis is looking at him thoughtfully.

"But, like, timing, I think should be the very end of the show. By then Simon and the fans will all be as invested as possible in us, but we won't have signed the new contracts yet," Harry says.

"We need to keep our loyal guard dogs at bay til then."

"Yeah." Harry thinks. "Also, I looked through the contracts and I don't think we'd be breaking it by coming out but I don't know enough."

"Your mum did say we needed a solicitor," Louis says.

Harry nods. His mother wasn't wrong. 

"I just don't know how to find one," he says. "I never really worked with them directly. And my other contacts from eight years from now, like even if I had their numbers memorized, none of them would take a call from a random sixteen-year-old kid on a reality show." He runs a hand through his hair. "I keep thinking of Nick—"

"Nick Grimshaw?"

"He'd be so helpful, but I haven't really had luck getting in contact with him so far." He pinches his bottom lip. "I wouldn't trust anyone with the show to help us without alerting Simon. And they assigned us lawyers, right, to go over the live show contracts?"

"Offered them," Louis says. "I don't know anyone that took them up on it when we were all going to sign anyway."

"Yeah," Harry says. "And they'd be more invested in protecting Simon's investment than us. Of any of us, Liam's the most likely to know someone, but his contacts are probably all related to The X Factor, too."

"What about James Corden?" Louis asks.

"Yeah, but I don't have his number, either."

Louis gives him a weird look and says, "I know him."

Harry sits up straight. " _You_ know him. Shit, how did I forget. Where's your phone? We'll ring him right now." He hands out his hand.

Louis laughs at him. "Well, I don't have his number on here. Can text me mum, though." He pulls his phone from his pocket and sinks down onto the bed next to Harry. 

Harry's vibrating next to him, it finally feels like things are happening.

"There," Louis says. He tosses his phone to the side, then looks at Harry and laughs a little. "You're really excited about this, aren't you? It's just James Corden, you know. You must've met him by now."

He laughs a little. "Yeah, course I have, but—" 

He's interrupted by the ding from Louis' phone. He scrambles over him to grab it from where he'd tossed it onto the bed.

"Oi, Hazza, that's mine," Louis says, wrestling him for it with a laugh.

"It's a text from your mum," Harry says.

"I know, you tit, I'm the one who just texted her." Louis nudges at his side.

"She sent you James Corden's phone number," Harry informs him. "You should text him, too."

"I will if you just give me my phone back—"

Harry lifts himself up and looks down Louis on the bed. Louis is looking up at him, soft, fond under his lashes. He licks his lips and watches Louis follow the movement.

He leans down slowly and brushes a kiss to his lips. Louis' hands grip his hips and Harry kisses him again, lightly. When he pulls back just a bit, Louis tightens his grip and entreats him, "Don't go, Harry."

"Not going anywhere," Harry tells him. He leans in and brushes another soft kiss to his lips. Then he shifts, repositioning himself so his knees are straddling either side of Louis' thighs.

"You're beautiful," Louis says.

"Yeah?" Harry feels a pleased flush come to his cheeks.

"So fucking gorgeous, darling," Louis says. "Now come back here."

Harry leans down, balancing with his hands to either side of Louis' shoulders, and kisses him again.

This time Louis parts his lips and Harry licks into the heat of his mouth. As they kiss, he feels Louis runs his hands up and down his sides, then come back to settle at his hips again.

Their kisses get deeper and Harry feels his muscles start to tremble. He lets his knees slide down and their groins line up. His breath punches out of him as the force of his arousal hits him. He's suddenly aware of how tight his jeans have become. Of how hard Louis feels underneath him.

"Fuck, sorry," Harry says.

"You're fine, you're perfect," Louis says, leaning up to kiss him again.

"I'm so hard right now, though, Lou," Harry whispers against his lips, as if it could possibly be a secret.

"Yeah I can feel that," Louis says, with a soft laugh. "I'm right here with you, though, love."

Harry can feel that, too. He bites his lip, takes in the tender way Louis is looking up at him.

"Haz, how slow is slow?"

Harry blinks down at him.

"You said you wanted to take this slow," Louis says. "I'd be happy to just keep kissing you forever, but—"

"How slow is slow for you?" Harry interrupts.

"What?"

"Last time you were the one who said that," Harry tells him. He gingerly lifts himself off of Louis, leaning back to sit on the bed beside him.

"I did?" Louis asks as he sits up beside him, tangling their legs together.

"I was kind of a little shit about it," Harry continues. "I mean, I don't think I like, crossed any lines, but I definitely tested your patience a little."

"Did you?" Louis licks his lips. "So I had you, my lovely Harry, looking just like you do tonight—"

"I have a better haircut right now," Harry is quick to correct.

Louis rolls his eyes. "With a slightly inferior haircut but otherwise looking just like you do tonight. With those big eyes and that mouth and your —" He glances down and then back up to meet his eyes. "Predilection for being in the nude."

"Yeah, that was worse last time," Harry says.

"Of course it was." Louis bites down on a smile. "So I had you, my shameless new boyfriend, looking at me with those big eyes, and I'm telling him I want to take things slow."

"Yeah."

Louis throws his head back and laughs. "Jesus, Haz, how long did I even last?"

"You made it, like... a few days," Harry admits. "Was very damaging to my pride."

Louis shakes his head. "Your pride looks like it survived intact."

Harry smiles back at him. "So what is slow for you, Lou? I'm not going to push you now."

"I don't know. I —" Louis breaks off, looking a little unsure for the first time. "I reckon that was probably me trying not to pressure you. You were sixteen years old and I'm almost nineteen."

Louis had told him that was why, but, eight years ago, Harry had assumed it must have also been because Louis had never done anything with a boy before. Harry had been very eager to show him how good it would be.

"Yeah, but, I mean, I was almost seventeen," Harry can't help but point out now.

Louis pokes his side. "And was that an argument you made last time, too?"

Harry laughs. "Might've been."

Louis presses a soft kiss to his lips and then they're interrupted by Cher banging on the door and telling them they have to come downstairs to film a cooking segment.


	16. Chapter 16

"Harry Styles was caught kissing a girl backstage," is what Liam greets him with when he meets him in the workout room the next morning.

Harry hums and taps his hand thoughtfully over the dumbbells in the free-weight rack.

"' _One Direction member Harry Styles is reportedly caught kissing a girl in Simon Cowell's X Factor dressing room Sunday night_ ,'" Liam reads off his phone while he's jogging on the treadmill.

"That does sound like something Harry Styles would do," Harry says blandly.

Liam looks over at him. "Apparently you thought you would be so kind as to give a personal tour to one of the fans who stayed after the live show."

"I wonder how I ever found the time," Harry says. "Was it while we were deciding if Louis and I should come out of the closet?"

"Well, he was occupied as well." Liam looks back at his phone. "' _Fellow band member Louis Tomlinson was also apparently caught kissing a female fan under the audience seating area._ ' So, sure, probably round that same time."

"So Louis got to kiss his girl under the stands and I had to do it in Simon Cowell's dressing room?" Harry wrinkles his nose as he settles on an appropriate weight from the stack.

"Is this because of the bromance rumors after the song Saturday?" Liam turns off his phone and steps off the treadmill, wiping his forehead with a towel.

"I think it's just the usual publicity," Harry says. "Management believed our 'bromance' was cute at first. As long as they could link Louis to someone female, it was a while before they started doing things like this about me." He looks up at Liam. "Would you spot me?"

Liam sighs. "Most people don't need spotting for bicep curls, Harry."

"I just usually have a personal trainer."

"If you had a personal trainer _now_ , they would tell you to get on the treadmill and warm up first," Liam says.

Harry grins at him. "Thanks, Li."

 

 

"Where's Zayn?" Cheryl asks when she and her camera crew find them in the kitchen. 

"Haven't seen him," Niall says.

"Me either," Harry says. He glances at Louis, who shrugs. Louis is sitting on the work surface, kicking his heels against the cupboard, balancing a cereal bowl in his lap, eating with a spoon one hand and his other hand toying with Harry's hair.

Harry gives the camera a wary look, then subtly shifts closer to him.

"Is he missing?" Liam asks, a worried note creeping into his voice.

It wouldn't be the first time Zayn had gone missing, even back then. The morning after they'd been put together as a band at bootcamp, he'd not shown up to meet them in the cafe near their hotels in London. And then he'd been a day late to join them at Harry's stepfather's — well, not technically stepfather quite yet — bungalow a week later.

Harry remembers they'd all started to worry that their band was going to be over before they'd even gone to Judges Houses. They'd spent that first evening talking Liam down from increasing panic that Simon wouldn't let them continue if Zayn dropped out.

"Have none of you seen him this morning?" Cheryl asks, curls bouncing over her shoulders as she looks around at them.

"I'm sure he's around," Louis says. He nudges Harry's side with his knee. 

Harry glances down at where Louis is sitting next to him on the worktop. He bites his lip. He would give so much just to reach over and lay his hand on his leg, give the muscle of his thigh a squeeze through his jeans. 

He's painfully aware of the cameras on them — and also painfully aware that the sixteen-year-old boy he once was still wouldn't have hesitated.

He fucking loves this boy so much, and he knows how much he loves to have his body worshipped. So, in an act that's probably both more and less bold, he leans up, cups his hand to whisper in his ear. 

Louis leans down a bit. And Harry whispers, very quietly, "I really fucking love your thighs, Lou."

Louis jerks back to stare at Harry from startled eyes, mouth dropped open.

Harry immediately worries he's pushed too far. Sixteen-year-old Harry Styles might have been bolder in some things, but was definitely shy about using words. Ironically, it was Louis who'd shown him how to.

Louis glances down at his own lap and then he meets Harry's eyes again. His expression is more one of pleased disbelief.

Harry's vaguely aware of Cheryl saying something and then Niall volunteering, "He was gone when I woke up."

"Really?" Liam is saying. "He'll usually sleep through anything."

"Yeah. Reckon that's the first time that's ever happened." 

Harry lets his eyes drop away from Louis because this is starting to seem familiar to him.

Not just in the sense of Zayn going missing. For four years, their tour manager's second most important job — somewhere after making sure no one saw Harry and Louis in close proximity, and before keeping Louis' adventures from landing the whole band in jail in whatever country they happened to in — was keeping track of Zayn.

But there's something about this week. Cheryl taking Simon's place, Harry on vocal rest, Zayn —

"Oh no," Harry says.

"Harry?" Cheryl says.

"Sorry. Just. I know where Zayn is." He turns to the other boys. "His grandfather—"

It's then that a production assistant comes rushing into the kitchen with the proclamation, "I have bad news."

But the cameraman just lowers his camera and sighs. Cheryl informs them they'll have to re-tape that.

 

 

After they re-film their reaction to Zayn's grandfather passing away, they have a brief chat with Cheryl. She tells them Simon had decided on Tattoo after all for their second song and then dismisses them for a trip to Syco studios to meet Sandeep.

"Zayn knew last night that his granddad died," Louis says after getting the ding of a text on his phone.

"Why didn't he tell us?" Liam asks, looking a bit distressed.

"And how'd he even wake up so early by himself?" Niall asks. To be fair, that is probably the more unbelievable part of it.

As Louis types back to Zayn, Harry adjusts him on his lap and wraps his arms around his waist. Louis shoves his phone into a pocket and curls into Harry, resting his head on his shoulder.

Even after weeks here, Harry's still getting used to the way Louis fits in Harry's lap. Louis is the same size, but Harry can't wrap himself around him as well as he'd like to, especially when he seems a bit cold.

They're in one of the X Factor vans which means there should be plenty of seats. But Rebecca is riding with them, as well as one of the PAs, and Louis had happily plopped himself down in Harry's lap even before they'd realized they were short a seat.

At least the PA is up front so she can't easily listen in.

"They wanted your reaction to be authentic, didn't they?" Rebecca, next to Harry and Louis, gives them a small sympathetic smile.

Harry rubs his hand down Louis' side over his hoodie and the two thick layers he's got on underneath.

Louis' phone dings again and he fishes it out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"What did he say?" Liam asks.

"Oh. It's not Zayn." Louis sits up straighter in Harry's lap and looks at him. "It's James Corden."

"He finally texted back?" Harry asks. He'd been starting to lose hope this morning. James is usually very prompt at replying to texts. A little too prompt. Harry has received replies during breaks filming his show and, on more than one occasion, while he was apparently in the midst of intimate relations. Harry had asked his wife once if he was telling the truth about that and she'd said, unfortunately, yes.

"He says he'll only help us if we give him the location of our secret gig tomorrow," Louis tells him.

Harry laughs a little. "Sounds about right."

The van hits a bump on the road and Harry tightens his hold on Louis and also does his best not to feel Louis' bum bounce over his crotch. He'd think that between sympathy for Zayn and worry over their future as a band — not to mention wanking late last night before he crawled into bed with Louis — that walking into the Syco building with a boner wouldn't be too much of a concern.

But, well, he's sixteen, it's Louis in his lap, and it's Louis' bum positioned right over his crotch. The situation is still precarious.

"I didn't know we had a secret gig," Liam says.

"Must be because it's _secret_ , innit," Louis says.

"Who's this James you're talking about, then? And how did he know?" Liam crosses his arms over his chest, over the seatbelt.

"Is he the one on Gavin and Stacey? You know him?" Rebecca asks interestedly.

Harry nods. He tells her, "Louis used to play footie with James on set."

"You were on TV and you didn't even tell us?" Niall asks Louis.

"Because I wasn't," Louis says.

"It was back when it was Fat Friends. Jay was on the crew there," Harry explains. He looks over at the others and continues, proudly, "Louis _was_ in an actual film, though."

"I was an extra in a TV film that only about twenty people ever saw," Louis corrects.

"You weren't an extra," Harry informs him reproachfully.

"I didn't have a single line, lad," Louis says, poking him with his elbow. He can't get at Harry's ribs from the angle he's at, so it doesn't have much effect.

"You were on the credits," Harry insists.

"I was not."

Rebecca laughs next to him. "Do you know more about Louis than Louis himself, Harry?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "He thinks he does."

"If we have a concert tomorrow, do you think Zayn will be back for it?" Liam asks.

Harry looks at him at the change in topic. He actually does remember this much now: the first, but hardly last, time they'd had to go on stage without Zayn.

"No," Harry says, as the van pulls up outside Syco. They're immediately engulfed by cheers from the excited fans who'd obviously been tipped off that they'd be there. As the PA hops out to open their door, Harry tells Louis, "Tell James we'll be at The Hospital Club."

 

 

They sign about a dozen autographs and take a few selfies. Louis complains about not having brought a proper winter coat to London. Liam starts to say that if he had just believed Harry, but then gets interrupted by Niall slipping on the melting ice and falling into small pile of snow shoveled onto the edge of the pavement.

Eventually they make it inside and to the conference room where Sandeep is waiting.

"I have a couple people to introduce you to," Sandeep tells them as he ushers the boys inside.

Harry gapes.

"Very nice to meet you boys," Hilde Henriksen says with a kind smile, a light Danish accent, long blond hair and a fewer lines on her face than Harry remembers from the last time he saw her.

"You're all so adorable!" Carole Wakefield exclaims with an enthusiastic clap of her hands, familiar bright brown eyes and tousled black hair under a knit cap. She says, "I want to hug each one of you. This is going to be so much fun."

Harry breaks from his trance to take her up on it, giving her a big hug as she giggles at him.

"Hi," he says, grinning at her.

"Hello, Harry Styles," she says.

He steps forwards to give Hilde a gentler hug. She pats his back.

"Hi, Hilde," he tells her.

She smiles at him. "Hello."

He glances around at the other boys. They're all looking at him curiously. 

"Hilde is going to be your new vocal coach," Sandeep informs them. "And Carole will be your stylist."

"What about Grace?" Niall asks in confusion.

"Grace is the stylist for The X Factor," Sandeep says. "Just like I'm the vocal coach for The X Factor."

"But we're on The X Factor?" Liam says.

This _did_ happen last time. Harry remembers this, too, now. He just hadn't realized the import of it last time.

He turns to Carole and tells her, "I'm getting tired of blazers."

"Good to know."

"Louis looks amazing in braces," he adds. He catches Louis arching his brow at him.

"All right," she says, cheeks dimpling in amusement.

He wants to hug her again and tell her that he's been missing her, and he loves her adorable baby boy, and they need to come visit him in LA and he's already done the research on how old babies have to be to fly and—

And he's also sixteen and in London right now. And there won't be a baby boy for a few years. Someone else he knows will be having a baby a bit sooner than that, though —

He asks Sandeep, "Can Lou start now, too?"

"Can Louis start what?" Sandeep asks.

Niall laughs.

"No, Lou Teasdale," Harry says. He peers around the two women, as if they might somehow be hiding her behind them.

"Who's that?" Sandeep asks, looking puzzled.

"She's a hairdresser," Carole answers for him. "How do you know her, Harry?"

"Um," Harry starts. Had Lou started that much later? He doesn't remember the exact moment he'd met her but she'd been there from the beginning, too.

"Is she the one you said was a friend of your parents?" Louis asks from behind him. Harry turns to him.

"Um, sure," Harry says slowly.

"I've worked with her a couple of times. She's quite good," Carole says. "I wonder if she's on the list of people they're considering for the job."

"Right," Harry says. He's a bit afraid to say anything else, in case this is something he could change and he somehow prevents Lou from getting the job.

So he turns back to Hilde instead, who's sat back down at the table and is looking between them, a bit puzzled.

Harry takes a seat across from her and says, "So. This is Liam." He points to Liam.

"Hi, Liam," she says. Liam gives her a friendly handshake and then sits down next to him.

"Liam can sing almost anything," Harry informs her. "And he's the most consistent of all of us. He doesn't need a lot of technical help. I mean, you could work with him on his falsetto but that's probably not the highest priority right now."

Hilde looks mildly confused.

Harry points at Niall. "This is Niall. We should be using him more than we have. He's really adaptable. I don't think he always realizes it, but he does have kind of a tendency to go flat, so you could help him with that."

He watches Hilde glance at Sandeep, who shrugs, seemingly content to let Harry keep going.

"Zayn's not here," Harry continues.

"I told them about his grandfather," Sandeep says.

"I was sorry to hear that," Hilde says. "I've seen him on your show. He has a beautiful voice, a lot of talent."

"He does," Harry says. "Everything he knows, he taught himself. I mean." He glances at Sandeep, who doesn't seem offended, but he clarifies anyway, "Besides what he's learnt here. But he really doesn't have that much experience at all. He needs to push himself for volume, too."

He looks at Sandeep again and adds, meaningfully, "Also he has a really nice kind of rougher voice and it'd be a shame to auto-tune that out completely."

Sandeep raises his eyebrows at him.

Harry points behind himself at Louis, who is standing behind him, hands resting on his shoulders.

"This is Louis," he tells Hilde.

"It's lovely to meet you as well," she tells him. "You were so lovely the other day."

Louis thanks her, sounding a bit shy.

"Louis should lead the melody on the choruses whenever he can," Harry tells Hilde. "Like, he's going to, anyways, so you might as well plan for that."

"They should be taking notes here, shouldn't they, Harry?" Carole asks, giggling.

They probably should be. But Harry reassures Hilde, "We can talk more. But, like, just so you know where to start."

He continues, "Louis has a better high range than he thinks he does but he's not as good at the lower registers people keep trying to put him in." He turns to Sandeep again. "Actually, our songs should really have more variation. They don't all need to be so low. Louis and Zayn sound best when it's higher and Liam is comfortable singing anything."

Sandeep crosses his arms and says dryly, "I wasn't aware that was an issue. We did transpose the verses to I Don't Want to Miss a Thing last week, you know."

"In the future, though," Harry insists pre-emptively. Then he turns back to Hilde.

"Also we haven't really seen Louis belt yet, but if he gets a bit better at breath control, he'll be brilliant at it, you have no idea." He thinks. "Actually, we could all be better at breath control. That might be the first thing you want to work on."

He bites his bottom lip, thinking. It wasn't that he'd disliked Hilde. She was kind and she was patient. But she was also very much their management's vocal coach, not their own. He'd like to at least plant the seeds of what they, the actual singers, need while he still can.

"Or harmonies," he comes up with. "We can do some brilliant harmonies, people don't really give us enough credit for it. But it won't even take much work for us to get them down." He glances at Louis again, thoughtfully. He's still looking a bit shy from all the talking about him, but he has a small, fond smile for Harry.

Harry turns back around and continues, "Also, I'm not as good at belting as people think I am. I don't project that well naturally, not like Louis does, and I tend to use too much air to do it. I lose the pitch and end up with a sore throat."

He gives Hilde a reproachful look she probably doesn't deserve yet and tells her, "I mean, I'm the worst about it, but if you can teach us all how to not be too hard on our voices when we're doing multiple shows in a week, that'd be brilliant."

"Harry, I think you're worrying too much," Sandeep cuts in. "You guys will only be singing two or three songs a night on The X Factor Tour."

"Sure. But, later."

"Er, Harry—" Liam attempts to interrupt.

"Later?" Sandeep repeats. "Maybe you should just focus on The X Factor for now, and make sure there will be a later."

Carole starts giggling. Sandeep and Harry both turn to her.

"Sandeep, you just introduced them to their new vocal coach and stylist," she says, shaking her head in amusement. "Our contracts were for longer than two weeks. I think it's fair to say there will be a later."

 

 

Hilde is starting vocal assessments with Liam and Carole has pulled Niall away saying she needs to get to know each of them. Harry follows Louis to where he'd disappeared into the gents' toilet.

From where he's washing his hands at the basin, Louis meets Harry's eyes in the mirror. Harry leans back against the door and pinches his lip with his fingers.

"You know the difference between you and me, Haz?" Louis asks as he dries his hands.

"What?"

"My reasons for locking you in a bedroom with me were completely appropriate." Louis turns around to face him and looks pointedly at the lock on the door.

Harry follows his eyes to the lock that he'd just flipped.

"Oh," he says. He's not sure if he should tell Louis that he's followed Louis into these same Syco recording studio toilets so many times over the years that locking the door behind them is apparently habit.

Actually, the following Louis in here might have been habit, too, because he doesn't have a good reason for being here. He was just feeling a bit out of sorts, in a way he can't quite put a finger on.

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry blurts out.

Louis laughs a little and shakes his head fondly. "Hazza, you don't have to keep asking me that. You know I'm always going t'say yes."

"Maybe I like hearing you say it," Harry mumbles.

"Then, yes, Harry, get over here," Louis says, spreading his arms.

Harry crosses the short distance over the tiled floor, backing Louis against the wall.

"What was that this morning, love?" Louis asks as he tugs him in close by the strings of his hoodie.

He gives Harry a soft kiss. It's long and sweet. Harry leans into his lips and starts to feel something settle inside him.

"So?"

"So?" Harry repeats, once they've pulled apart.

"So." Louis begins knotting the strings of Harry's hoodie. "I'm just saying, I can see why you might get caught propositioning innocent lads on camera."

It takes Harry a second, but then he smiles.

"I've learnt to whisper since then," he tells him.

"Good for you, love."

Harry reaches up to smooth Louis' fringe down over his forehead. Louis' eyes roll up, following his fingers.

Harry swallows and says, "I wanted to touch you, but there were cameras."

"What kind of touching were we talking here, Haz?" Louis asks.

"I mean, all the kinds," Harry says. He looks down at Louis and then up at his eyes again.

"Very specific." Louis tugs a bit at the bow he's made of Harry's hoodie strings.

"I don't know," Harry says with a small shrug. He doesn't know how he can be expected to narrow it down. He wants to touch Louis all the ways all the time always. So instead he asks, "What do you reckon it's like?"

Louis tilts his head questioningly.

Harry clarifies, "Touching someone you love in public. I don't mean anything, like — I just mean, holding their hand or something."

Louis' hands drop from his hoodie as his mouth drops open.

"Lou—?"

"Oh, darling." Louis' eyes are wide and he looks like he's going to say something more but then he throws his arms around Harry instead, pulling him tightly to him and burying his face in his neck.

"I'm sorry." He feels Louis' arms tighten around him. "I'm so, so sorry, darling."

"What?"

Louis pulls back and Harry sees a tear running down his cheek. 

"Lou, are you okay?" he asks in concern as he gently wipes it away with his thumb. "Why are you apologizing? Why are you crying?"

Louis blinks back the wetness in his eyes and looks away. "Fuck, Hazza. On behalf of the wanker I was, obviously."

Looking at Louis right now, Harry's suddenly hit by the memory of an older, gaunter, more stubbly version of this boy begging him for the same forgiveness. He can't take it. He pleads, "Louis, don't. Please."

Louis' lips part and he looks like he's going to argue. But then he reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers tightly together. He looks back up at Harry with red-rimmed but blue, blue eyes.

"I'm going to show you, darling, okay?" he says, holding up their clasped hands for Harry to see. "We're not going to have to lock the door just to hold hands. We're going to get it right this time."

 

 

Leicester Square is lit up with flaming torches, plush red carpet curves around the square, news cameras and paparazzi crane over studier barriers than usual and security are stationed every few yards.

The Odeon itself is emblazoned with a giant 'Chronicles of Narnia: World Premiere' billboard.

Harry stands in the middle of the three other boys, posing with their arms around each other.

They're still blinking away the paparazzi flashes when one of the PA's comes to brush the light flakes of snow off their matching black suit jackets for another series of photos down the red carpet.

They don't have far down the red carpet to walk, though. Compared to Harry Potter, apparently having the queen in attendance for Narnia means more security, fewer fans camped out on the square and matching, sober black suits for every X Factor contestant.

Also, no tickets for any of them this time.

They barely have time to answer more than a few questions before they're sent back off the red carpet. Just as Harry is about to follow Niall and Liam into one of the vans, he feels Louis grab his arm and tug him back. He sends him a questioning look.

"Why don't you take our spot, mate," Louis is telling Matt Cardle.

Matt eyes him suspiciously. "Is this the prank?"

"What prank?"

"The one I was warned about yesterday."

Louis huffs indignantly. "I was just being considerate of me elders, here, not making you wait around for the next van. I don't know what I did to make you think so lowly of me, but —"

"Covered the toilet basin in cling film?" Matt suggests, folding his arms over his chest. "

"One, that was months ago—"

"Less than a week ago," Matt corrects, and then coughs into his hand.

"And, two—"

"Boys, you need to get in," the PA holding the van door snaps at them. When Harry glances around, the security guards are already gesturing to the van to move.

"We'll be in the next one," Louis informs her, squeezing Harry's arm.

"Yeah," Liam says, peeking out from inside the van. "Patty said she wanted Matt to take their place. Seeing as he's poorly."

Matt coughs again and apparently that's enough proof for everyone involved, because then he's climbing into the van in their place.

Louis starts to pull Harry back from the van but Liam leans out the door and says, "Tommo," holding out Louis' scarf.

"Good luck!" Niall calls out.

Harry frowns at Louis, growing more suspicious. "Good... luck?" he asks.

What happens next, Harry isn't entirely sure of. The van drives away, Louis exclaims, is that Prince Harry over there? Which distracts their handlers and the next thing he knows Louis is clutching his arm as they sprint away.

Louis finally lets them stop when they join the nighttime crowd of shoppers on Regent Street.

"Um," Harry says.

Louis sifts through the scarf in his arms and an object falls loose onto the flagstone pavement. Harry bends to pick it up and someone jostles him as they pass.

It's Louis' phone, it turns out. Harry runs a finger over the cracks in the screen. "Did Liam seriously just smuggle you your phone?" 

Louis sighs as he takes it from him.

"That knob was supposed to smuggle me _his_ phone," he says, shoving it into his pocket. The suit's well-fitted enough that it ruins the line of it, which was why they weren't allowed to have them in the first place. Looking back, Louis had been oddly indignant about that.

"So, besides kidnapping me and stealing Liam's phone, was there a plan?" Harry asks him.

"Of course there's a _plan_ , Harold," Louis grumbles.

"You know, I don't even care if there isn't." He feels a smile coming to his face as he looks up at light flakes of snow twinkling in the fairy lights above them. "It's just nice to be, I don't know. A person for a minute. Do you reckon anyone will even recognize us?"

He looks back at Louis, who is now watching him with soft eyes. "Don't know, love. Those curls are hard to miss." He starts to reach up to Harry's hair when Harry suddenly hears a squeal of his name.

He resists the urge to sigh as he steps back from Louis and turns to the pair of girls scampering up to them excitedly.

"We're such huge fans," the girls squeal after they've taken a series of selfies with them.

"Thank you," Louis tells them. "Don't forget to vote for us, yeah?"

"We would never!" one girl exclaims. "I mean, we would never forget. Not that we'll never vote for you. Of course we—"

Harry glances around the road warily. They've earned themselves a few curious looks but so far no one else looks like they're about to approach.

He turns to the girl and interrupts her gently, "Sorry, would you do me a favor?"

"Of course! Anything," she says.

Harry chuckles a little, softly. "Wait a couple of hours before posting those, yeah?"

She and her friend seem confused but they still agree without hesitation before they hurry back across the road.

"So, what was that you were saying about my hair?" Harry says.

"Nothing, Curly," Louis says. He looks him up and down. "These outfits probably didn't help things, either."

It's less that they're still in the matching dark suits from the premiere. And more that, aside from Louis' skinny scarf, they seem to be the only ones on the street without some form of winter-wear.

At least Harry still feels warm from how Louis made them sprint over here.

Louis reaches out and Harry feels his fingers brush against his hand. Harry turns startled to him and Louis jerks his hand back, looking from side to side at the people passing by.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—" Louis shakes his head ruefully. His hand goes to Harry's back instead. "Come on, it's somewhere in this direction."

"What is?"

Louis doesn't tell him, just urges him along through the crowd among the shops.

Harry's eyes catch on the Burberry storefront on the other side of the road. It's going to be a while before he can even think of affording anything in there on a regular basis. And that's assuming they make this band work at all.

He just about runs into a woman coming out of Zara with two big shopping bags in her hand. Louis' arm coming around his waist keeps him from them both faceplanting on the pavement. Louis laughs softly, warm breath tickling at Harry's ear.

Harry does stop in front of Hamley's to peer in the windows. To be fair, he's not the only one.

Next to him, a little boy is exclaiming at his sister, pointing at an animated bear drinking tea next to a teddy-bear sized Christmas tree. Harry can't help a grin at them. Louis still has his arm wrapped around Harry's waist and even if it's only slightly further on the side of platonic than holding hands, Harry's not going to resist leaning into Louis' side.

"We're a bit early," Louis says, looking at his phone with his other hand.

"To where?" Harry asks. 

But Louis still doesn't tell him, just gives him an amused look and shoves his phone back in his trouser pocket.

Harry shrugs. He never minds a surprise. He points to a puppy teddy bear in the window with a wagging tail. "Look, the twins would love that puppy."

"They would," Louis agrees.

"Are they coming this weekend?"

"Don't think so," he says. "Mum said she'd be here for the final if we make it there."

"We should take your sisters here when they come," Harry tells him. "I'm sure Lottie would pretend to hate going to a toy shop but she'd secretly have fun."

Louis pulls back to look at him. Harry meets his curious eyes. But Louis doesn't say anything, just gives him a fond smile and brushes the flakes of snow off his shoulder.

"Is this a date?" Harry asks him.

"Of course it's not a date, Harold, keep up," Louis says, rolling his eyes.

Harry looks around them skeptically. "Lou, we're on Regent Street—"

"Precisely, a posh shopping date when neither of us has a fiver in our wallets."

"I have twelve pounds in mine, actually, Lou," Harry says. "It's just back at the house."

"Too bad, then," Louis says. "Could've bought a single string off that Burberry scarf you were eyeing in that window back there."

" _Anyways_ ," Harry says. He was actually looking at the coat, but he refuses to let Louis distract him too far from his point. "We're on Regent Street and it's Christmas—"

"Christmas isn't romantic," Louis tells him.

"What are you talking about? Christmas is the _most_ romantic. Look, there are even fairy lights." Harry points upward at the lights strung across the road.

"I take no responsibility for those. I didn't put them there," Louis protests as he drags Harry out of the way of a man exiting the shop behind them.

"And it's snowing—" Harry continues, undeterred.

"Exactly," Louis says. He tightens his arm around Harry's waist and guides him to start walking again. "It's too cold to be a date."

Harry giggles. "I'm counting this as a date, Lou. You can't stop me."

"I'm not taking you on a date to see another _man_ , Hazza."

"You're taking me to see another man?" Harry asks, interestedly.

"Oi, you could sound a bit less excited about that," Louis says. "If we _were_ on a date, I'd be quite offended right now."

"Is it James?"

"No, it's not James," Louis says. When Harry opens his mouth, he shakes his head. "Now, you obviously know nothing about what it's like to date me, Haz. Clearly that other me was a lazy sod."

Harry feels his lip twitch, thinking about _their_ first date, where Louis had attempted a ridiculously ambitious meal when he couldn't even make edible toast most mornings.

"If this were a date," Louis continues. "You wouldn't have to _ask_. You would be proper _wooed_."

"But I'm the one who's supposed to be wooing you," Harry reminds him.

Louis just looks at him. "Think you have that backwards, darling."

"No—" Harry starts to protest.

"What?" Louis asks, amused. "You think just because you're older you get to do the wooing? You're the one that's taken all the convincing here, love." He pinches Harry's side and Harry squirms a little. "You said it yourself, you were the one who was supposed to kiss me, but you didn't."

Harry stops on the pavement. Behind him, one of the employees is flipping a closed sign in the shop window.

"You know that wasn't because I didn't want to," Harry tells him. "I really, really did."

"I know, it's _fine_ , love. I know you thought your gay lurgy was catching," Louis says.

Harry wrinkles his nose. "It sounds really insulting when you say it like that."

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"No, you're right, it _was_ really insulting to think that I could change you. Or that you needed to be changed." Harry bites his lip. "I'm sorry."

"I know, it's _fine_." Louis pokes at Harry's cheek.

Harry can't help but smile a little, because that trick never really fails. But he feels like he has to confess, "That wasn't why I didn't do it, though."

Louis looks confused for a moment.

"Why I didn't kiss you."

"Oh." Louis falters. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"What makes sense?" Harry asks.

"I'm sure I wasn't — I'm not — that much like what you remember."

"What?"

"I know I'm proper immature sometimes — most of the time. And I probably don't even look the same as you knew me —"

"Shut up, Louis," Harry cuts him off, because bluntness is the only thing that ever gets past his moments of insecurity. He looks him dead in the eye. "You don't. You don't look the same at all. The last I'd known you, in 2015, before we broke up, you were _miserable_. You were tired and beaten down and so, like, painfully thin. I mean, you were still the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen, but—"

"Haz," Louis starts, face falling. "Shit, I'm sorry, I'm being a twat."

"You know that day I woke up here?" Harry continues softly. "I'd missed you for years and here you are smiling and your eyes are sparkling and, Lou, you are so hard to resist, like, you have no idea."

Louis tilts his head. "You did, though."

Harry nods reluctantly.

"Was it because I didn't know you weren't the Harry I'd gone to sleep next to?"

Harry scratches the back of his neck. "I mean, if I was a better person, that probably would've been the reason."

"Okay?" Louis says. "Then what? Did I have bad breath or summat?"

"I mean, that wouldn't _stop_ me from wanting to kiss you."

"So I did?"

"Jesus, Lou, no, of course not." Harry laughs. "I'm just saying, I love morning kisses, for future reference or whatever. I don't _care_."

"You're the one who made us brush our teeth the other morning," Louis reminds him.

Harry feels a little ridiculous, and mumbles, "Um. I'd kind of just wanted to make a good impression?"

" _What_?" Louis looks at him incredulously. "Okay, we're back to the main point then, love. We don't actually have all night here. It's cold and we should try to meet this guy."

Harry would like to get sidetracked by asking again who this guy is, but after all this he probably does owe Louis an explanation.

So he sighs and says, "Because, Lou. You didn't kiss me back."

Harry's jostled by a pair of teenagers, who apparently don't recognize them, but call out apologies as they pass. When he looks back up, Louis is staring at him even more disbelieving than before.

"Look, it had only been a few hours since I'd been here," Harry tells him. "I hadn't even got to the point of thinking about what I should do. I wasn't really used to the idea of being here and all I could think about was, like, what if this was all I had? Like, the girl, she'd said eight years, but what if it was actually only a day or something? I wanted to kiss you but what I wanted more was to be close to you."

"And I didn't kiss you back," Louis repeats.

Harry bites his lip. "You kind of ran away. It was, like, a while before we were close again, like, as friends even."

"Are you serious? What a fucking _wanker_ ," Louis says. "Why would I even —"

"I mean, I thought it was because you didn't think you liked boys," Harry says, shrugging helplessly. "That I had freaked you out or something."

"Did I _lie_ to you, too, then?" Louis demands.

"No, no," Harry insists. "Of course you didn't _lie_ to me. I just, like, assumed. And you were _you_ , Louis. You're the same person. You felt so bad and you'd apologized, like, at least a hundred times." He crosses his arms around himself. It's still snowing and their suits really aren't the warmest. He concludes, "So I didn't think I needed to, like, confront you about it, because obviously you'd got over freaking out and I was getting kisses all the time."

There's a line between Louis' brows.

"Are you going to ask me why now?" Louis asks.

"I mean, I'm already getting kisses, so—" Harry smiles at him.

"You _think_ you are," Louis knocks his shoulder into Harry and says, "Come on, keep walking, love, it's fucking cold."

They walk past a closed storefront and then Louis asks, "Was it when we were going to pull that prank on Belle Amie?"

Harry stares at him.

"Do you remember, we were hiding behind the stairs, where the ironing board and the drying rack are," he says.

"Why do _you_ remember that?" Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head, a small, rueful curve of his lips. "You were laughing and your eyes were — Harry, I put a finger on your lips to make you be quiet and —" Louis looks away. "I almost kissed you then."

Harry stops and gapes at him.

Louis keeps walking, making Harry hurry to catch up.

"You didn't," Harry insists.

"No, I didn't," Louis says. "I'd been thinking about it, though, and there was something about that moment."

Harry frowns at him. This isn't making any sense. "Why didn't you?"

Louis gives him a sidelong look. "Didn't want to give you the gay lurgy, either, did I, love? Now." He pulls his phone out. "I think we're close but seeing as Liam gave me a phone without proper maps—"

Harry hesitates for a moment, but decides to let it go. It really is getting cold out. So he looks around, wondering where Louis could have meant them to be headed. 

There's a hotel on one side of the road, a church in front of them. And past it the BBC building where Harry has spent a ridiculous amount of time bugging Nick and bringing his staff baked treats.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks. Louis is busy texting someone, probably Liam. Whether that's for directions or to insult him — well, most likely both.

"You don't have your phone, either, mate," Louis says.

"No," Harry says slowly. He knows he isn't the best at directions, mostly because he tends to let his mind wander when people are telling him how to get somewhere, and then lets his mind wander more when he's headed towards that somewhere. He tells Louis, though, "But I've lived in London a lot. Like, I spent a lot of time in that BBC Radio building there—" He gestures. "There's a bakery 'round the corner." He frowns. "But they're probably closed."

"That's the BBC building?" Louis asks. "What are you standing there for, then? Come on."

"Lou, why are we —" Harry starts. Then realizes, "You're taking me to see Nick!" 

"Nicholas Grimshaw," Louis says. "10p to midnight host on BBC Radio 1. You know, I'd be more impressed by your friends in high places if he was on the morning show. Who's even listening to the radio right now?"

Harry grins at him. "He does get the breakfast show, soon, Lou. And you'll like him, he's really funny."

"So we were friends before?"

Harry hesitates. Louis narrows his eyes.

Harry laughs and shakes his head. "I still can't believe you're taking me to see Nick. This is the best date ever."

Louis eyes him. "You know, I'm sure there's still some cling film in the kitchen, best hope you don't find it wrapped over _your_ toilet basin in the morning."

Harry laughs and grabs his arm, tugging him down the pavement. "There is, but it's green and has Christmas trees on it. I'm not too scared. Does Nick know we're coming?"

 

 

Nick Grimshaw does not know they're coming.

Neither do the security guards at the front.

Neither does his producer when they convince them to phone her.

But, luckily, Nick can never resist a good puzzle. And, apparently, two X Factor contestants absconding from a film premiere to show up in the snow at his studio at half ten at night counts as one.

 

 

Harry is interrupted from his whispered conversation with Nick for the third time by lights flashing and his producer informing him he has to come back on. He comes back to Louis, who is watching him questioningly from one of the guest chairs. Harry drops down beside him and leans his arm on his shoulder.

Finally, Nick pushes play on the music again and drops down his headphones. Then he eyes the both of them.

"Well, our young Harold here is either telling the truth and he's from the future, or he's the creepiest stalker to have ever stalked me." There's a loose strand of hair threatening to fall onto his forehead but his quiff is still quite high. Harry had forgot how impressive it had used to be. "Either way, I reckon it's in my best interests to help you."

"You'll help us?" Harry says.

"Well, we'll _see_." Nick leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head and eyebrows raised in put-upon impatience. "Now, since it must be well past your bedtimes, why don't you tell me to what exactly I owe the honor of this visit."

Harry glances at Louis briefly and then back at Nick, who raises his eyebrows at him again.

So Harry just blurts out, "We're two gay boys in a boyband."

Nick doesn't say anything. He surveys them for a long moment, eyes narrowing. Then he shakes his head.

"No," he says.

"No?" Harry repeats.

"No, you're not two gay boys in a boyband." Nick sits forwards in his chair, the front feet hitting the ground. "You're two gay boys in _Simon Cowell's_ boyband."


	17. Chapter 17

" _Simon Cowell's_ boyband," Nick repeats. "Simon Cowell, who has ties to every part of the music industry in England, and in most of Los Angeles."

Harry nods.

"Who has the owners of at least three London papers on his payroll? And who isn't exactly known for his restraint in using them?"

Nick steeples his hands together on the table in front of him.

"That same Simon Cowell who has his artists tied up in some of the strictest, shittiest contracts in the industry — and, believe me, that's saying something, boys — and who, if they displease him, makes them languish in legalities for years before they're even allowed to sing in the shower again?"

"Exactly," Harry says.

"Who is probably already counting the windfall from our newest boyband obsession in American dollar signs?" Nick raises his eyebrows. "And who might not take very well to that being derailed by some inconvenient homosexuality?"

Harry nods.

"Especially seeing as he is also the Simon Cowell who sets the creepiest fucking lawyer in London on anyone who even suggests that _he_ might be gay?"

" _What_?" Louis demands.

"Yes, that Simon Cowell." Harry exhales. He knew Nick would understand this, even better than he does. He should have found a way to talk to him sooner.

Except Nick is shaking his head.

"Sorry, kids, can't help you there."

Harry feels his mouth drop open.

The lights from the 'on air' sign flash on the wall and Nick's producer signals to him through the glass window.

"You... can't?" Harry repeats.

"Well, no, I do reckon I _could_ help you," Nick says as he reaches for his headphones again. "But even if the hours are shit and the pay is shittier, I find I'm actually rather fond of my career here."

Harry stares at his once-and-future friend.

"I do have one piece of advice for you boys, though."

"And what's that?" Louis asks in a stiff voice. He lays an arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezes tightly.

Instead of answering, Nick flips the switch on his mic.

"And that was In For the Kill by La Roux. For those of you keeping track at home, their eponymous debut album was number 526 from '1000 Albums Everyone Says You Should Listen To, But We've Only Got Time For One Track So Here It Is'." He gestures to his producer. "Next up is Starstrukk from 3OH!3 featuring our dearly beloved songstress Katy Perry."

The on-air sign does dark as he flips his mic back off. Still watching Harry and Louis, he lowers his headphones and tells them: "It's to get the fuck out of Simon Cowell's grasp while you still can."

He regards them for a long moment and adds, " _If_ you still can." 

Then he dismisses them with a "Congratulations on your new pop-stardom, boys."

 

 

"No offense, love, but your friend is a bloody wanker," Louis tells him. 

Harry doesn't even protest, just nods against his shoulder, feeling forlorn. 

He knows how Nick works, knows he can be abrasive and selfish. He hadn't expected Nick to come out with public support of them. But he could have helped them behind the scenes, got them contacts, advice, something. He'd thought — well, Nick _is_ loyal to his friends. Just, apparently showing up from the future and telling him that they're friends doesn't make him one.

"Everything he said. Was all that true?" Louis asks. 

Harry nods again.

They're pressed side by side on a cold train back to the X Factor house. Louis might not have had money on him, but he had been able to sneak their Oyster cards into his suit pockets so they weren't _stranded_ in London.

"Simon Cowell's a bit of a wanker, too," Louis says.

"A bit," Harry mumbles.

"Is he really gay?"

"Nick? Yeah, he's pretty gay," Harry says.

"No, Simon." He can hear Louis' eye roll in his voice.

Harry shrugs. "Don't know. His personal lawyer is creepy, though."

"So if he'll do that much to keep people from thinking he's gay, what would he do to keep us in the closet? Since we're the ones he thinks are going to make him money?"

"Lou, we know exactly what he would do."

Louis turns around to peer at him and then shakes his head. "Maybe we don't want that million pound contract, then."

"Maybe not," Harry says as they stand up.

 

 

The next morning, Harry wakes up in Louis' arms, pretends he hadn't had his hopes up about Nick and that his words don't make everything seem all the more hopeless and that everything's going to be okay.

But then Louis strokes his hand down his bare arm and he decides if he gets to wake up in Louis' arms, maybe everything will be okay.

Even if Liam makes them get up before the sunrise because it's already Wednesday and they've barely even practiced their songs for this week.

Downstairs, they find Matt with a 'vocal rest' sign around his neck.

Louis takes pity on Matt's pitiful attempts at speaking anyways and after a few suspicious looks, he happens to mention that wouldn't it be a great prank to warn someone they're going to be the victim of a prank and then never pull one.

They'd be on edge for days, wouldn't they?

Harry catches Liam looking oddly disappointed, as if he'd been eager to see whatever brilliant prank he'd thought Louis had been planning.

But Matt's glares become more grumpy than suspicious after that.

At least until Harry makes him a cup of tea.

After that, Matt's more like his normal self. Minus, well, the talking.

Harry adds the advice to stay away from lemon no matter what the internet says. The acid just makes a swollen larynx worse.

Niall asks him what the feck a larynx is. Liam accuses him of making up words. Louis pretends it's a dirty euphemism. And things continue as usual, except, well, Zayn is still gone and Liam keeps futily checking his phone for messages from him.

 

 

It's not even gone eight, the sun's no more than a bleak glow through the snow out the window of the practice room, and they've barely even start practicing Tattoo — with Harry covering Zayn's verse, and Liam his ad libs — when Hilde arrives.

She seamlessly joins their practice and has them work on harmonies for the choruses. It takes only a few mediocre run-throughs of different combinations before she agrees that Harry may be right about giving Louis the lead, with Harry backing him up, and putting Liam on the high harmony and Niall on the lower.

Harry catches Cheryl's eye just as he's finishing the ' _Still the memory of you marks everything I do_...'. She stays quiet in the doorway until Liam finishes the song with Zayn's ' _Just like a tattoo, I'll always have you_ '.

"You sound remarkably like Zayn there, Liam," she tells him in her soft Newcastle lilt.

Liam looks confused.

"I believe that's a compliment," Hilde says.

"Aye, that's a compliment, lad," Cheryl says and he visibly puffs up under her smile. Harry catches Louis eyes and shrugs. "Now, come out here and join the others, we have an announcement for you."

After she announces their secret gig tonight, and they film all the contestants' appropriately excited and worried reactions for the cameras, they pile into the X Factor vans to go to the gymnasium for choreography.

 

 

"Who do you see yourself as in your group of friends back home?" Carole asks.

Harry brushes his hair back from his forehead. He's still a bit sweat-sticky from the choreography practice.

Cheryl had been as tenacious as ever and insisted over and over, with increasing distress, "But they can't be a boyband that can't dance."

"The Beatles didn't dance," Sandeep had finally pointed out, after the fifth time Harry had to be corrected because he'd spun a little over-enthusiastically in — yet again — the wrong direction.

"I can't believe Simon's allowed this to happen," she'd said mournfully. And then called out, "Harry, love, you're still spinning in the wrong direction!"

It had still taken Cheryl another hour to accept what Brian had realized weeks ago: that Harry's confidence doesn't equal coordination, that Louis doesn't have the focus to learn anything more complex than jokey flamboyant moves, that Liam's too stiffly perfectionistic to relax into the rhythm, and that Niall is more likely to fall off the stage than complete a routine.

To be fair, she might've resigned herself sooner to not being the one to remediate their hopelessness at choreography in one week if Zayn, the hopeless-est among them, was there for the practice.

"Harry?" Carole repeats. They're sitting on the sofa in the small gymnasium snack room, alone save for the hum of vending machines. She'd finished with Louis' interview, and Harry was the last save for Zayn to sit with her. Sandeep and Hilde have the others practicing their vocals in one of the back rooms. 

"Sorry," Harry says. He swallows another sip of his Naked Juice bottle and says, "I have a hypothetical question for you."

"Well, I had an _actual_ question for _you_ , if you recall," she says dryly.

"I forgot what it was, though," Harry says.

She opens her mouth, looking like she's about to remind him, but then shakes her head instead, lips curving into a familiar reluctantly charmed smile.

"Fine," she says, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She taps her long fingernails on her calf. "What's this hypothetical question?"

"So, um, hypothetically," he starts. "How might you market a boyband that has two gay members?"

She stills. There's a long moment of silence as she stares at him.

"Two?"

"Two," Harry repeats. He hates himself a little bit for how _hard_ this is to say out loud. Even when he _knows_ , one hundred percent knows, that she doesn't care. That she hated what their management had done to them. She was the one who suggested the tattoos in the first place.

She looks at him again for a long moment.

Harry amends, "And I mean gay in a more generic sense. One of them is attracted to men and women."

"Bisexual?" she says.

"Maybe he hasn't really identified with a label yet," he says. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically hasn't identified with a label," she repeats. He nods. "Well, I suppose the answer to that depends on if they're being marketed as gay or straight."

"They're out," Harry says. He amends. "They're going to be out."

"No one mentioned this," she says. "Well, they mentioned that one of you would need an image that—" She stops herself, then says, "They definitely didn't mention _two_."

Harry fiddles with his juice bottle.

Finally, she asks, "Was one of these members supposed to be the flirty one?"

"He, um, really isn't flirting with women," Harry says. "I mean, he's gay. They just seem to always think he's flirting."

"I can see why that might be." She surveys him. "Women do love a gay man."

Harry waits.

"Yes," she nods to herself. "Women love a gay man. Girls love a gay boy. Girls can have crushes on him but he's always going to be unattainable. I think that might be how you market him."

"And the other?"

"The other," she says slowly. "Well, if he's bisexual — or, well, whatever — I don't think we'd have to be as careful with that image."

"People tend to think he's gay, though," Harry tells her. "He can be more, like, flamboyant. Also if he's in a long-term relationship with another boy... Not everyone is great at understanding sexuality."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Hypothetically," he clarifies.

"Right," she says. "This long-term relationship. Is that with the other boy by any chance?"

"Possibly."

"And so long-term would be... a few weeks? At most?" she questions. "They would just be teenagers and they would've just met. I would ask them to think about what the impact on the band might be if they broke up."

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, her expression changes and she turns to face him more fully. Her brown eyes are wide and open. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I keep forgetting you're only sixteen, love, but I'm not doing this right at all."

"No, it's—"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay, Harry," she continues earnestly. "When we're talking about you being harder to sell, that's not what I mean."

"I know—" Harry starts.

It's then that Liam walks in, jangling coins in his hand as he makes for the vending machine. He comes to a halt on seeing them.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Carole tells him. "We were just talking about..." She turns to Harry questioningly.

"We were talking _hypothetically_ about how to market a boyband with two gay boys," Harry says with a sigh.

"Oh!" Liam says and he grins. "Excellent. I was hoping we could talk about that. I wasn't sure if —" He glances at Carole.

"Yes," Harry says.

"Okay, good," Liam sits down across from them. "I've been doing some research." He pulls out his phone. "People have been saying for years that there could be a big boyband with gay members, but no one's actually done it."

"No one's even done a big boyband in years," Carole adds.

"Harry said something the other day that made me think. If you look at what fans really look for in a boyband..."

 

 

"This is confusing," Liam complains after a few minutes of talking around the actual issue. "Do we really have to pretend this is hypothetical?"

Carole leans forwards, resting her elbows on her knees. "I don't think we have time to pretend this is hypothetical." She glances at Harry then back at Liam. "And The X Factor's almost over. I don't know if you're aware of this, but there will be contracts preventing you from doing anything to contradict the images we're marketing you with."

Harry is very, very well aware of that. The wellest aware.

"And these two boys might think they're out, but as far as their fans and their management know, they're not. And they don't have to come out," she tells them, and then turns directly to Harry. "That is a valid choice, you know. They don't have to choose the harder path here. There's a lot that can be done to keep people from finding out that they're gay. A lot of people are invested in this band, and they'd probably be very happy to help with that."

Harry glances at Liam, who doesn't look happy. He echoes Liam's words from the other night and tells Carole, "The price of that might be more than those boys are willing to pay."

Liam lets out a long breath and even Carole seems to relax a bit at those words.

"Then Liam's right," she says. "We need to talk in more than hypotheticals."

 

 

"Lou, I have to tell you, I told—" Harry trails off as he turns around.

The two of them are changing for the concert tonight. Harry has a checked shirt and his best-fitting jeans on — though, honestly, best-fitting isn't saying much — and Louis is shirtless, arms halfway in the band t-shirt he's changing into. Harry sucks in his lower lip as he takes him in. He doesn't actually have much time, though, since as soon as Louis realizes he's looking, Harry catches the flush of his cheeks and he quickly throws his t-shirt on.

But, well, now that Harry's looking, he can't _stop_ looking. Louis' in his red trousers and, god, if he makes it out of the house without the production assistants making him change, the way they cling to him is, as usual, going to drive Harry mad all night.

"Harry?" Louis asks.

"Yes?"

"You were saying something?"

Harry reluctantly drags his gaze up, biting his lip.

"Um," he says.

"Something distracting you 'ere, Haz?" Louis asks, lips curving into a smirk as he raises his eyebrows.

"Why'd you put your t-shirt on?" Harry blurts out.

Louis says slowly, "Well, someone's probably going to come and drag us out to the car and it'd a bit chilly to go shirtless with a foot of snow on the ground."

"Right," Harry says. He internally shakes himself. He can feel how he's getting hard just from looking at Louis and — yes, a quick peek downward confirms that it's not completely subtle. He feels like the biggest creep right now. "Sorry. Just, um. I'm trying really hard not to come on too strong or, like, intense. But then I keep forgetting. So, um. Sorry."

Louis is looking more confused. "Why would you be—"

"I told Carole," Harry interrupts him.

"You told her that for some reason you think that I don't want—"

"I told her that she needs to figure out how to market two gay boys in this band."

Louis' eyes widen. "Oh."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Lou," Harry says, feeling wrong-footed all over again. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't even ask you first. I mean, it was kind of in the moment and I'm not used to coming out being, like, a thing, but that's such a shit thing to do without someone's permission. Zayn would kill me right now."

"Haz."

He feels a gentle hand on his arm and looks up in time to meet the soft press of Louis' lips against his.

"What's wrong?" Louis asks. He tugs him down with him onto Liam's bed.

"Nothing," Harry says softly. "I'm sorry."

There's a bit of amusement in Louis' light blue eyes. "Love, will you stop apologizing. You've always had my permission."

"For what?"

"Well, for everything you've spent the last five minutes apologizing for, I suppose," Louis says. He glances away and then back at him again. "But, look, you do realize we're coming out to the entirety of the British Isles in less than two weeks from now?"

"Yeah, but." Harry bites his lip.

"Also, I trust you. So there's that," Louis says. He presses a thumb to Harry's lip, gently tugging it away from his teeth, and then gives him another soft kiss.

"Oh."

Louis rolls his eyes. "And Carole seems all right."

"She is," Harry assures him.

"Okay." Louis kisses him again, then settles down so his head is tucked onto Harry's shoulder, hand resting on Harry's hip. "I suppose she knew last time, too, then?"

"Oh, no, she didn't," Harry says. "She knew eventually, of course. But too late to really help us with our images. She's the one who gave us the idea for the tattoos, though."

"What tattoos?"

"I mean," Harry continues. He runs a finger over the back of Louis' hand. "Really no one knew this early. The other boys didn't even know."

"Seriously?" Louis asks. He shifts to look at him. "What? Did we not tell them til after the show?"

"We never _told_ them, exactly," Harry hedges.

Louis has this look like he's about to press Harry for a better answer, but then instead he says, "What did you tell Carole I was?"

Harry looks at him.

"We keep saying, we're gay boys in a band, but—"

"Lou, you know I've only meant that in a general way, right?" Harry says, starting to move to face him.

"Of course I know that," Louis says, holding him down next to him. "But what am I, though? Am I bisexual?"

Harry does turn around to look at him at that. "Are you?"

"I'm asking _you_."

"You're asking me to define your sexuality for you," Harry clarifies.

"This would be a lot easier if I knew what words t' use," Louis says. "When me mum's coming down next week, I'd like t'know what to tell her."

"Lou," Harry says. "The people who matter to you don't care what words you use, I promise. And the people who don't matter will believe what they want to believe no matter what words you tell them."

"Still. You knew me in the future," Louis says. "What did I tell people I was then?"

Harry shakes his head. "Lou, you didn't get to _tell_ people anything. But as far as whatever you identified as?"

Louis nods.

"Louis William Tomlinson."

"Yes?"

Harry grins at him.

Louis' eyes narrow.

Harry grins more widely before saying, more seriously, "You're your own person, though." He's thought about this a bit and came up with a rule he's going to try to stick to, if he can keep anything from slipping. "I know I've told you things about the future. But I'm not going to tell you who you are or what you like. That's like me telling you what your favorite color is going to be five years from now."

"Is it yellow?" Louis asks, perking up. "I hope it's yellow."

Harry laughs. "Why do you hope it's yellow? What's wrong with red?"

" _Nothing_ 's wrong with red," Louis gestures pointedly down at where his red trousers are hugging his thighs. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Harry repeats with meaning.

Louis meets his eyes. "I like boys."

"I got that," Harry says with a smile.

"My relationships with girls were real, though," Louis says. Then seems to consider. "Maybe Heather and I weren't in as much of a relationship as we let people believe these past few months. But she really was me girlfriend at the beginning."

Harry stares at him.

"It still seems so different being here now, just—" Louis stops himself and gives a self-deprecating eyeroll. "I'm sure I'm utterly boring you 'ere, seeing as you know all this already."

"I don't," Harry tells him, snatching for his hand. "I don't, but even if I did, I'd still want to hear it."

Louis smiles a little, shaking his head.

"And, you know, you don't have to have a label. You can just tell people you don't feel a need to label your sexuality," Harry says.

Louis wrinkles his nose. "That sounds like something people say when they're gay but they don't want to say it out loud."

"Sometimes it is," Harry says evenly. "But sometimes it just means you don't feel a need to label your sexuality."

Louis gives him a look. "I think the whole point of this is that I would quite like a proper label, love."

"Well, _no matter gay, straight or bi, lesbian, transgendered life, I'm on the right_ —" He trails off when Louis just keeps staring at him without any flicker of recognition on his face. "Oh, fuck me. Call Me Maybe was bad enough. Don't tell me _Born This Way_ doesn't exist yet."

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, then realizes what he's doing and tosses it down on the bed.

"You know the worst part is, I can't even _google_ when it's going to come out."

"Right," Louis says, nodding seriously. "Because that's definitely the worst part."

Harry shoves his shoulder and Louis laughs.

 

 

They're in the back of the X Factor van again, on the way to their secret gig. Well, all except Matt and Zayn. Which means they squeeze into a single van. Well, with Louis on Harry's lap, that is.

The four of them are in the back with Rebecca and Cher. Mary's up front. Louis is stroking Harry's curls.

"Why do you always get to have Louis in your lap these days?" Cher complains with a pout. "You should share. He's the best at cuddles."

"You can have him," Harry tells her. "My legs are getting numb."

"Oi," Louis complains, pulling back to glare at Harry. "If you're implying I'm too heavy, I'll have you know—"

"You are bigger than Harry is," Liam says. "You should switch places."

"I am _not_ —"

"I don't think he is," Niall says.

"Exactly."

"I swear the other day you were standing next to each other and Harry was actually taller than you."

"I think you're right," Rebecca says.

"Actually, now that you mention it—" Liam starts.

"Harry is _not_ taller," Louis says indignantly. "We measured."

"We measured at bootcamp and he was barely shorter than you," Niall says. "That was months ago, wasn't it? I'm probably taller than you now, as well."

" _Lies_!" Louis shrieks, loud enough to make Mary and their driver turn around to see if everyone is okay back there. Harry laughs into his shoulder. Louis grumbles more quietly, "It's just his curls. It's an illusion."

"You can't have it both ways," Liam points out reasonably.

Louis' glare, which Harry is sure is quite impressive, is somewhat diminished with it being too dark in the back of the van to make out properly.

"Fine," Louis says. "We're switching."

He starts to lift himself up from Harry's lap but Harry tightens his arms around his waist. 

"Don't," Harry says. "I don't actually need to feel my legs."

Louis doesn't give in to his protests and after a scuffle of exclamations, screeches, elbows in all sorts of sensitive places, and their driver threatening to pull over if they're not going to behave, Harry ends up seated in Louis' lap.

For all Louis' pretense at rough manhandling, he's holding Harry in place with his usual gentle hands. Harry curves into him and Louis strokes his fingers over Harry's thigh, touch light through the denim of his jeans. 

"Do you lot know who Modest is?" Rebecca asks suddenly.

Harry shifts in Louis' lap to look at her in the darkness of the van.

"Modest Management?" she says when no one answers right away. "Cheryl said they would be here tonight and I remembered something about them in our contracts. Their website kind of didn't say much. Just said they work with Leona Lewis and JLS."

"Why are you reading our contracts?" Cher asks.

"Just some things I heard," she says vaguely.

Harry feels Louis' hand tighten over his thigh. He says, reluctantly, "Some of the production assistants here work for them. Like Patty and Avery and Alex. They're a management company. Kind of like how actors have agents. Only different."

"How do _you_ know?" Cher demands.

"How are they different?" Liam asks over her.

"I mean, sometimes they're the same," Harry says to Liam.

At Louis' tap on his thigh, he elaborates, "You can hire a manager to negotiate a contract with a label for you. And then they do scheduling and booking and they sort personal things and sometimes do PR. It all depends how big a team you have."

"And when they're different?" Liam prompts him.

Harry sits up more, slings his arm around Louis' shoulders, between him and the headrest. "Just sometimes it's the other way around. The label hires a manager to work with their act. It means the management is closer to the label, so they do the same things, but they're more invested in helping the label than their act."

"And Modest is the second type," Louis says.

"They're Syco's."

"So it would be better to hire your own then," Rebecca says.

"Except the X Factor winner's signed with Syco," Harry says.

"There's no choice?" Louis asks.

"I don't think so," Harry says.

He _knows_ there isn't a choice. Rebecca will know, too, a couple of years from now when she tries to split with Modest and they sue her for many future years' worth of earnings.

At least The X Factor finally stopped using Modest for their acts after that.

"That means there's a choice if you don't win, though," Louis says.

"If you don't sign with Syco," Harry says.

 

 

He's been to a few meetings and private performances at the Hospital Club in the past several years, but hasn't played there since, well — this night. Tonight.

It's not the best show ever.

The few energetic fans — mostly children of the industry people sitting the back of the room sipping their drinks — crowded around the stage don't quite make up for the distinct lack of ambiance provided by those industry people.

The last time Harry remembers them playing a venue so small was a private wedding for a sheikh's daughter in Dubai. That at least had a lot more energy than here.

They sing Summer of '69 and Something About the Way You Look Tonight. Zayn's not there but, besides a few lines of Niall's, Harry and Liam do most of the singing in those, anyways.

Afterwards, they mingle.

"Boys, this is Henry Gomery," Cheryl says, graciously introducing them to the gray-haired man who would slowly grow more balding and more jowly in the next five years.

Watching Louis willing to shake this man's hand is — well, something Harry hasn't seen in years.

"A pleasure to finally meet you boys," he says with a grin.

"He's the Co-Founder of Modest Management," Cheryl adds. "Simon asked me to introduce you personally."

Harry catches the other boys looking at him, but he isn't sure what to say. Cheryl is already making her way back across the room.

"Um," he says. "Hi."

Henry laughs. "We're looking forwards to working with you boys."

"You're going to be working with us?" Louis asks.

"Well, if you work hard, we will." Henry winks at them. And then seems to catch sight of someone. "Oh, Robert, come on over here and meet the One Direction boys."

And then it's Robert Gordon who's shaking their hands.

"Robert's one of Simon's execs over at Syco."

Robert turns on them with a wide, toothy smile. It's the first time Harry's actually caught sight of him in several years, despite overhearing him talk in the hallways.

"What a pleasure," he says. His handshakes are overly firm. "We have great hopes for you boys."

"Thanks," Liam says politely.

There's a screech at his side and Harry's eyes rest on a young girl, long blond hair, bouncing up to him.

Robert sighs. "This is my daughter. I'm sure she'll never leave us alone until she gets a photo with you."

"And autographs," she insists.

"Of course, love," Louis says. He steps closer. "Have you been watching us?"

She nods excitedly, surveying them eagerly. "You're Louis. My dad always forgets how to say your name. And you're Harry and Liam. And you're Niall — you're my favorite because you're Irish!"

"His name's actually pronounced _Neil_ ," Louis says seriously.

"Hey—"

She frowns at Louis. "Are you sure?" 

Louis pats her shoulder. "It's alright, love, people make that mistake all the time."

"Actually—" Niall attempts to protest.

But Robert's daughter is saying, "Where's Zayn? Why wasn't he here?"

"He, er, had to be with his family today," Liam says.

"But he's my second favorite," she pouts.

After his daughter gets her selfies, Robert shoos her away.

"I don't understand this whole boyband thing," he tells them, taking a long sip of his drink. "She spends more than I care to know about voting for you boys every week. I'd object more if it wasn't money coming back to us in the end."

Henry gives the boys a more genial grin and says, "You boys are quite popular. It's astounding the attention you get from these girls."

"Thanks," Liam says, though it comes out more like a question.

"Louis William Weatherford Weavil Tomlinson!" a voice booms out from behind them. "Well, well. What _did_ you do to your hair? Does your mother know about this?"

 

 

Which is how they leave The Hospital Club that night better off than when they came: with an appointment already scheduled with an entertainment lawyer just two days from now and an open invitation to come round James Corden's and play FIFA.


	18. Chapter 18

"Are you going to tell James you know him from the future?" Liam asks.

"I don't know," Harry says without looking up from where he's concentrating on rolling the fistful of snow in his gloved hands.

"You told Nick Grimshaw."

"And look how well that went," Harry says dryly.

"He's not Nick, though. Bit less of a wanker," Louis says. He drops his snowball down on the pile and shovels up another fistful of snow with his hands.

Liam sighs and sets it in line with the others.

"You trust him, though?" Niall asks as he sets his own snowball down on their pile.

"That one's rather small," Liam says, frowning at it.

"Are you saying Niall's balls are small?" Louis says.

Niall cackles as he begins rolling a new ball.

"James is one of the good guys," Harry says. He peers at his snowball. "Nick is, too, though. He's just—" He shakes his head. "More complicated."

Harry turns his own snowball over in his hands. It's still a bit uneven. He presses down on one side and... then has to bend down to pick up the broken-apart pieces.

Louis laughs at him and knocks their shoulders together. Harry looks up at him, takes in his blue eyes crinkling in the early morning light, red knit beanie on his head, winter-white landscape spread out all around them. Even if his snowball's ruined, he can't help but smile back.

"You know when I woke up here for the first time that morning?"

"And fell off the bunkbed?" Louis asks. He tosses another ball on the pile and bends down to grab more snow.

"Yeah. When I first woke up, I thought it was James in bed with me," Harry says as he attempts to shove the broken pieces of his ball back together.

Louis looks down at himself and then shrugs. "I can see that. Get mistaken for him all the time. Been a real problem for me."

Harry laughs.

"Why would you be sleeping with Louis' friend, anyways?" Niall asks, laughing. He drops two more smaller snowballs on the pile.

"I don't think I want to know," Liam says. "And, Niall, how much damage do you think these small ones are even going to do?"

"Leave 'im alone," Louis says. "Don't listen to Payno 'ere, they're perfectly serviceable balls, Nialler."

Niall smiles brightly at him and starts rolling another one.

"You know what they say," Louis continues. "It's not the size of the ball, it's the—"

"Please stop," Liam interrupts.

Harry looks back down at his snowball. It's larger than anyone's but it's also more lopsided than ever now. He glances around at the foot of fresh snow covering the gardens that they'd woken up to this morning. Maybe he should start again.

"James was the friend I was going to visit when the Traveler found me. Was going to hand-deliver backstage passes to my show," Harry tells them. "But I was sure I'd gone back to mine after."

He glances at the other side of the hill, where he can make out the dark figures of the other contestants against the snow.

"But then I turned around and it was Louis," Harry continues. He shoots Louis a grin and then bends down to grab a fistful of new snow and just add a bit more to his current ball rather than start anew.

"And naturally you immediately fell off the bed in terror," Louis says.

Harry laughs and then starts coughing.

Louis pats him on the back. "You alright there, H?" 

"We need to practice," Liam says suddenly.

"A practice snowball fight?" Niall asks, looking down at the two small snowballs in his gloved hands, pale cheeks are flushed from the cold. "Isn't the real one happening soon?"

"Practice singing." Liam stands up from where he's arranged their snowballs into neat piles. "It's already Thursday and we have two songs that we've barely even practiced. I emailed Zayn the tabs with his verses but he hasn't even replied." Harry can hear the increasing tension in his voice. "He has two solos this week. What if he's not —"

"He's coming back this morning, remember?" Louis reminds him, grasping Liam's shoulder.

"What if he hasn't even been practicing, though?" Liam asks. "If he—"

"If he can't sing them, we'll still figure it out," Louis says firmly, and then shoots Harry a quick smile. "Harry will help us figure it out, won't he?"

Harry nods.

He has some important parts, too, and Louis has the opening solo to Tattoo, but their songs are heavier on Zayn than usual this week. Which is not the most convenient with him being gone. 

Especially as last night the four of them had talked until late about their options with Modest and Syco. Or the lack of options. Or, well, at least the lack of knowledge of what their options are. The only conclusion they've been able to come to is that they have to smash their last performances to make them worth taking a chance on. 

Whether that's Syco promoting them despite not being the group Simon wanted them to be or another label taking the chance on them despite their being formed as Simon's boyband.

"Yeah, thank god we have Harry," Niall is saying, smiling over at him as well. "It's like having our own mentor who's an actual popstar."

"You mean like Cheryl? Or Dannii? What half the other acts have?" Liam points out. He still has a bit of anxious tension in his voice.

"Except he's on a whole new level, innit," Louis says, offering Harry a smile, eyes sparkling.

"I feel like I'm sitting for an exam in uni only to find out I've never even finished school," Harry blurts out.

"What are you talking about?" Louis asks, sobering.

"All this about the music business. It was never my thing." He pokes the still-uneven ridges of his snowball. "You were the one of us got it the best. But if it had been Liam or Niall — I'm pretty much the last person who should be helping with this. If I'd known it was real, that I was going to come back in time, I would've made some calls, got advice. But, well."

He shrugs, shoulder slumping down.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to us."

"I just want to do right by you —" Harry tells him, then looks around at Liam and Niall, who are staring at him. "By all of you."

"You _are_ ," Louis insists.

And that's when Harry feels cold smash onto his back.

Which thus marked the beginning of The First Annual X Factor snowball fight.

 

 

A short amount of time later, Harry's collapsed back in a bed of snow, staring up at the light gray clouds.

He hears a, "Hey, Zayn, you're back!" and the sound of boots crunching in the show. He moves to sit up and spots Zayn, clad in a black winter jacket, walking up to the house without pausing.

He sighs and collapses back into the snow. He coughs a couple of times.

A familiar figure comes into his field of view, silhouetted against the light sky.

He grins up at him. His earlier moment of moroseness was cured by the thrill of running around in the snow. But he still complains, "I didn't even get to use my ball."

"Yeah, Mary was a real dark horse there," Louis says, reaching down to help pull him up.

Harry laughs and then starts coughing again.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath. Louis is frowning at him, patting his back.

"Did we win?" Harry asks.

"Depends on if your definition of winning includes not having t'wake up early and make the girls tea every morning," Louis tells him as they head up the hill back to the house. "Because if it does — Are you sure you're alright, H?"

"I'm fine," Harry says. He just has to cough a few more times but then he's good. Except Louis' giving him a concerned look again. "I'm fine, Lou. The cold always makes me cough."

Louis still looks skeptical, so Harry suggests, "Or maybe I just swallowed the wrong way."

"Swallowed _what_?"

Harry attempts to give him a suggestive look but it's somewhat ruined by another coughing fit in the middle of it.

Niall turns around head of them and calls back, "Is Harry alright?"

"M'fine," Harry says. He says to Louis. "It's really just the cold."

Louis looks skeptical but says, "Let's get you inside, then, love."

He grabs his arm and tugs him along. Harry has to stop to cough again partway up the hill to the house.

"You know, I used to have asthma when I was a kid," Harry says, coughing a couple of times in the middle of speaking.

Louis' expression grows more concerned. "You certain that's a 'used to'?"

"I'm breathing fine," Harry says, batting at his arm. He attempts to demonstrate with a deep breath that ends in another coughing fit.

Louis' eyes grow wider. "I can _hear_ you wheezing."

"No, you can't."

"Niall!" he yells ahead. "Get Harry's inhaler."

"Harry has an inhaler?" Niall asks at the same time that Harry says, "I don't have an inhaler."

 

 

Harry, it turns out, _does_ have an inhaler.

So, a few minutes later, Harry finds himself in the bathroom, salbutamol puffer in hand, hot shower running for the steam, and no longer coughing.

Louis' hands are a press of heat over his bare thighs. Harry's sitting on the vanity in his pants and t-shirt since Louis had deemed everything else he was wearing too cold and wet from the snow to keep on. 

He would have suspected it to be a ploy to get him undressed, except for how Louis' eyes, still wide with concern, have just now finally lost their edge of panic.

"Are you sure you don't need more?" Louis frowns down at the inhaler. "You've only done two. Anne said you could do four."

Harry turns puffer over in his hands. "M'fine. Look—" He takes a deep breath and — okay, maybe there's still a tickle in his chest but at least he's not coughing anymore.

Louis looks at him pointedly.

"Fine," Harry says, and shakes another puff.

It turns out that sixteen-year-old Harry had told Louis he'd had asthma and shown him his inhaler as a 'fun fact about myself' when they'd moved in here. Harry, this Harry, hadn't even remembered how many puffs he was supposed to use, so Louis had had to ring his mother in a bit of a panic.

Louis' phone dings and he looks down at it. "And that's her making sure you're all right."

"Tell her I'm fine," Harry says.

"I'll tell her you're a _bit_ better," Louis says, typing out a reply. "And you're no longer allowed in the cold."

"So that means I'm no longer allowed outside?" Harry asks, setting the inhaler on the vanity surface next to a haphazard arrangement of hair products. He hadn't had an attack like that in years and usually only when he was ill. But apparently running around in the cold was enough to do the same, seeing as the tightness in his chest he hadn't even realized he'd been feeling until he took the first two puffs of the inhaler is now gone.

Louis sets his phone back down and looks back up at him, his eyes a little calmer now. He's still in his jumper and tracksuit bottoms, still dry since he wasn't the one who spent part of the morning lying in a snow pile.

Harry pushes the beanie off his head and runs his hands through his hair, thick and in a soft disarray from being unstyled.

He runs his hands down to his neck, thumbs at soft skin over his collarbones where the collar of his jumper ends. He darts out his tongue to lick his lips and catches Louis' eyes following the motion.

When Harry leans in to kiss him, Louis' lips part for him without any hesitation. Harry bites his lower lip gently and then licks into the familiar heat of his mouth. Louis pushes forwards, kissing him back. Harry feels his hands rub over his thighs, squeeze the softness there. Harry groans against his lips and scoots forwards on the vanity, letting Louis' hands go to his hips as he wraps his legs around Louis' waist.

But then Louis suddenly pulls back and exclaims, "Shit, are you breathing okay? I forgot —"

For a moment, all Harry can do is think how lovely Louis' lips look, already flushed and kiss-bitten. But when Louis starts looking more concerned, he thinks about what he just said.

"Lou, I'm fine," Harry assures him. "The puffer worked." He still looks concerned. Harry insists, "I'm _fine_."

After a long moment, Louis seems to realize that Harry isn't lying and nods. But when he kisses him, it's no more than a soft, quick press of his lips.

"You promise you're okay?" he asks.

"Promise," Harry says with a small smile. "Kiss me more?"

"Yeah," Louis says, taking a deep breath. "Okay, I — yeah."

But when he starts to lean forwards again, he stops and glances at the bathroom door, which is slightly ajar.

"Just, let me—"

"Okay." Harry relaxes his legs to let Louis go. The warm shower is still running, small fog of steam rising from the tub.

As Louis walks across the bathroom to lock the door, Harry traces his eyes over his body, from the lean curve of muscle of his shoulders to the taper of his waist, from the small push of belly under his jumper to the beautiful swell of his bum. The loose material of his trackies brushes over his thighs and stretches at just the right angles to hint at his crotch.

Harry pinches his lip between his fingers and tries to tamp down the heat rising in him. Seeing as Louis doesn't quite share Harry's predilection for nudity, it's been years since Harry's seen him naked. But he remembers so well and wants so _much_.

It was hard enough to ignore the pull of his boy back when they weren't together, but now it feels impossible sometimes.

He finally looks back up and Louis is staring back at him. The self-consciousness in his eyes wars with the pointed way he raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry," Harry says contritely.

"Sorry?" Louis repeats.

"I just, um. I really like looking at you," Harry says helplessly. "You're so — I just want to look at you all the time."

He finds his eyes drifting down his body again and forces himself to look back up. 

"I really don't want to push you."

"You keep saying that," Louis says. "I don't understand."

Harry shifts, trying to subtly adjust his boxer briefs over where he's already a bit hard from the kisses.

Not very subtly, apparently, by the way Louis' eyes widen.

Then Louis clears his throat and continues, "And you keep apologizing, too."

He finally steps back to where Harry's sitting up on the vanity, between Harry's legs again. He lays his hands on his thighs. 

"But I've been thinking about you for _months_ , Haz." Louis' eyes are bright blue and sincere under the slant of his fringe.

"You have?"

Harry's getting used to the idea of Louis not newly having come to the realization that he fancies boys. But the notion that Louis had fancied him back from the very beginning. It's something that Louis had always used to tell him but Harry had always dismissed it as exaggeration and it's still strange to think about.

"How do you not know that? Never mind that you're from the future and so you obviously know how much I—" He trails off as he strokes his fingers gently down the tops of Harry's bare thighs. "Have you really missed that I can't keep my hands off you, Haz?"

"I just want to do things the right way for you," Harry says helplessly.

"And what's the right way?" Louis asks, meeting his eyes again.

Harry shakes his head. He knows he's being a bit ridiculous. He's not the teenager of eight years ago, sneaking around for snogs and quick hand-jobs with his new boyfriend. That should really make things easier, not harder.

He just misses Louis so much and wants so much for him. He really doesn't want to mess this up.

But he concedes, "Maybe there isn't one."

He covers Louis' hands on his thighs and squeezes. Louis slips his hands down and tangles their fingers together.

"What do _you_ want, Lou?" Harry asks with a small smile.

"I want—" It's Louis who hesitates this time. "I want t'know what you meant when you said that wasn't how it works."

The confusion must show on his face.

"When Niall asked you who was on top?" Louis prompts.

"When he asked — Oh. When he asked who was on top and who was on bottom?" Harry says.

"Yeah, did we not — do it like that? In the future?"

Harry laughs, squeezing his hands. "No, we did, my god, obviously."

"Obviously?"

"Yeah. I mean. Not 'obviously', just — well, _obviously_ ," Harry grins at him.

"Cleared that right up, then, love," Louis says, but there's affection in his voice.

"I just meant being on top or bottom doesn't mean anything about who you are," Harry says. "Unless you want it to, I suppose. I think that's why Niall was asking?"

"Oh. But who was?" Louis asks. When Harry just tilts his head in question, he adds, "On top and on bottom."

It still takes Harry a second to realize why he's asking. He'd forgot how much Louis probably doesn't know yet about being with boys.

For all that Harry had been the tiniest bit more experienced with boys than Louis had in the beginning, he himself still hadn't gone further than inexpert blowjobs.

And so, between porn, which was rarely as instructive as it should have been, the internet, which was marginally more useful, and, most helpfully, the friends who hadn't balked at Harry's more detailed and curious questions (he sends a mental thank you to future Nick), they'd kind of figured everything else out together.

"We can do it any way you want, Lou," he tells him.

"But 'who does what' is kind of a basic question, don't you think, Haz?" Louis says.

"Maybe. I mean, I'm not going to just tell you what _I_ think you should like, though." Harry strokes his thumbs over the sides of Louis' hands.

"What if I said I wanted to be on top, then?" Louis asks.

Harry bites his lip, feeling a surge of heat along with the ghost of a long-forgotten twinge in his arse. He says, "Then we could do that."

"But what if I said I wanted to be on bottom?" Louis asks, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Harry attempts to suppress too big of a smile and he says, "Yeah, we could definitely do that, too."

"But what about what _you_ like?"

"What I like?" Harry asks. "Either way, Lou."

Louis frowns and is starting to look a little frustrated before his eyes finally widen with understanding. "You like both ways."

"I might," Harry says with a grin.

"You're a top and a bottom."

Harry nods.

"Wow," Louis says. His tongue darts out to wet his lip. "That's really..."

Harry pulls up their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Louis' hand.

"I didn't even — how did I not know that was possible?" he asks. "Do I like both, too?"

He presses his lips to the dips between Louis' knuckles and tells him, "You never know. You should probably _try_ both."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Could you make this conversation any harder?"

"Um." Harry glances down at where his boxer briefs are still a bit tented.

"And did you just turn that into a pun?" Louis demands.

"Maybe?"

Louis shakes his head.

"Look." Harry touches him on the chin to make him look back at him. "No two people are ever going to be a hundred percent the same for what they like. So I'd tell you if I ever didn't want to do something. But you should know we're, like, really well matched."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Lou." He smiles. "If there's something you want, I'd probably be really into it."

Louis nods slowly, looking like he's taking that in. Then he asks, "So I don't like 69 either?"

Harry frowns at him. Then laughs when he realizes why Louis would ask that. "Oh, god, no, that wasn't — I just said I thought it was overrated. It was kind of an inside joke?" He winces apologetically. "Only I reckon it was with the future?"

"Okay?"

"I mean, I _do_ think it's a bit frustrating," he concedes. "But, um, you might find you have a different opinion on that?"

"But I've never—" Louis shakes his head. "You know, I haven't really done that much, Haz."

"I know." Harry presses a soft kiss to his lips, pulling him back in closer. "I know. Just, um. You know how it's sometimes not easy for you to focus on just one thing at a time?"

Louis gives him a look. "Have you not _met_ me, love?"

Harry gives him a small smile. "Then imagine how it might feel if you didn't have a choice? Like if you were so overwhelmed that you couldn't think about anything else?"

Louis stares at him.

"Okay," Harry says, sitting up straighter. "Look, just imagine a guy sucking you off. But also his cock is in your mouth, too? And maybe he's also—"

"Don't—" Louis starts.

Harry meets his eyes.

"You. Not a guy." Louis clears his throat. "Don't say him, say you. Say me and you."

"Oh." Harry feels warmth swell in his chest and he can't help the smile overcoming him. "Yeah. You and me. Of course it's you and me. Babe. _Always_. Come here."

He slides off the vanity and pushes Louis the foot or so back into the wall. Louis' lips drop open and Harry kisses him, deeply.

Then he touches their foreheads together, pulling back just far enough to continue speaking. "So you're flat on the bed. Lying there—"

"Just lying there?"

"Yeah. This position's all about you, babe," Harry says. He rubs his hand down Louis' side, then pushes his hand up under his jumper to feel the warm skin there. "So I'm kneeling over you and I've got your cock in my mouth—"

"Jesus," Louis exhales. "Okay?"

"Which is pretty much my favorite place for it to be," he says. He kisses his neck. "Love how you fit on my tongue and you always taste so—"

" _Harry_."

He dips his fingers under the waistband of Louis' trackies, but then catches himself. "Can I—?"

"If you _want_ to?" Louis says, sounding a little strangled.

He pushes down Louis' tracksuit bottoms and boxer briefs and takes his cock in his hand in one practiced motion. He gives a broken off, "Oh—" and pulls back to so he can see better.

God, Louis' cock fits in his hand just the way he remembers, curved up and slightly to the right. He slides his hand down and then up again, watching his foreskin slip up over the head of his cock and then back down. 

He touches a finger to pre-cum leaking at the tip of Louis' cock and brings it to his mouth, darting out his tongue for a taste.

He licks the rest of it off the tip of his finger, it's salt and bitter and so _Louis_ and he's desperate for more than just the small taste that's there.

"Oh my _god_ ," Louis breathes out, back of his head knocking against the wall. Harry focuses back on him, realizing he was a bit gone for a moment there.

"You okay?" he asks.

Louis shakes his head slowly. "I don't think I'll be okay again."

Harry smiles. "Want to see what I taste like with you in my mouth?"

Louis' eyes grow impossibly wider and instead of answering, he tugs Harry in to kiss him. Harry lets him lick into his mouth, trying to give him as good a taste as he can.

"Like it?" Harry asks when he finally pulls away.

Louis nods dumbly. His hands are gripping Harry's sides.

"You. Can I—" He clears his throat and nudges his fingers at the waistband of Harry's pants. "Can I take these off you, Hazza? Please?"

Harry nods. Louis gently lifts the waistband and pushes them down from around Harry's hard cock.

When he reaches for him, though, Harry stops him with a, "Don't."

Louis meets his eyes. "You don't want me to touch you?"

"Lou," Harry says a bit desperately. "If you touch me, I'll come in about five seconds."

Louis' lips curve into an 'o'. "Really?"

"I'm sixteen and I haven't had a wank in at least two days and I can still _taste_ you," Harry says.

"I want you to, though," he says.

"Let me be with you like this a little longer first, okay, babe?"

Louis nods, visibly swallowing. Then he pushes Harry's t-shirt up, watching intently as the head of his cock bounces gently on the pudge of his tummy.

"You're so big, darling."

"You knew that," Harry reminds him.

"But I've never seen you like this."

"You like it."

"Yeah, it's fucking hot," Louis breathes out. He caresses Harry's belly right next to his cock. "But does it _fit_ , though?"

"Where?"

"What do you mean, _where_?" Louis repeats, voice pitched high. "Does it fit anywhere?"

Harry presses a soft kiss to his lips and smiles.

"Babe, it fits everywhere," he says. "I promise." 

He kisses Louis as he reaches down to take him in his hand again. He uses the new precum that's leaked from his cock to slick him up a little.

"Now," he says. "Remember, I've got you in my mouth. The angle's not the best, but, look—" He pulls away so he can show him where he's touching him. "Look here, how your cock curves up just right. If you give me enough room, I can still take you all the way down."

"You... can?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

Harry takes in Louis' startled expression and smiles. "Pretty sure, Lou."

"God," Louis says, letting his head fall back against the wall again. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Harry hums and strokes up Louis' cock, careful to keep his fist a bit loose. Louis may have a bit less of a hair trigger than Harry, but Harry can tell he's not far from the edge.

"So, I'm sucking you down and my cock's right there by your lips," Harry continues.

Louis' breath hitches and when he exhales, he eyes him again. "And so big."

"Yeah," Harry says. "And you can suck me off. Or you can just tease me. Or a little bit of both. Look, if you hold me here?" 

He takes Louis' hands to position them at either side of his hips and then he reaches for Louis' cock again. 

"If you hold me here," Harry tells him. "You can keep me close or just out of reach or — however you want me."

"Yeah?" Louis says, his voice rough.

"Yeah, and you can feel how clumsy I get sucking you off because of what you're doing to me."

"Oh."

Harry presses another kiss to his lips and starts jerking him a little faster.

"And with you holding me here," Harry says softly. "I only need one hand to balance and I can use the other one."

"Use it to what?" Louis asks, sounding a little short of breath.

"To touch you," Harry says, smiling against his lips. "Or give you a finger or two."

"Give me a — what?"

"In your bum," Harry says. "If you want."

" _Do_ I want?"

Harry giggles against his lips. "Yeah, you probably do."

Louis nods helplessly.

Harry tightens his grip on his cock and continues, "The angle's still not the best, babe, but you're flexible. As long as you don't distract me too much —"

"And if I distract you?" Louis asks.

"Then you'd feel just how crazy you're making me."

"Oh," he says breathlessly. "I think I'd want to distract you."

Harry laughs a little and twists his hand around to change the angle on his cock as he says, "That does sound like you, babe."

Louis laughs but it comes out pained. "Haz, I'm so close."

"I know," Harry says, adjusting his grip and stroking him faster. "I know, I've got you."

"Jesus," he says. "You're so—"

"You could touch me now," Harry tells him, not letting his pace falter. "Want to hold my cock in your hand when you come?"

"Yes, I want — so much," Louis says. His hands scrabble at Harry's waist, reaching for him. Harry bites out a groan when he feels Louis' hand close over his cock.

And Harry's not exactly counting, but he's not entirely sure he makes it a whole five seconds.

 

 

Louis is still sprawled over the bathroom rug, protesting that he is not one to be used and abused, that cuddles after coitus are not _optional_ and that Harry is setting a terrible precedent when he changes his complaint to, "Ow, that's cold."

"It's not cold," Harry says with a giggle as he continues to wipe off Louis' jumper with a warm flannel. "If you don't want me to clean it, you could just wear my t-shirt."

"And have you get another asthma attack from the cold?" Louis asks. "I'd be almost as rubbish a boyfriend as one who refused to cuddle."

"I love cuddling," Harry protests with a pout. "It's just Liam's already come by to knock three times."

He surveys Louis' blue jumper and decides it's now more on the accidentally-splashed-myself-with-water side of wet than the covered-in-stains-of-questionable-origin side, and tosses the flannel back onto the tub.

In his distraction, he allows Louis to haul him back onto the ground with him. He lands on top of him, hands propped on either side of Louis' head.

"Hi," Harry says.

"Hi." Louis reaches up and tucks one of Harry's curls behind his ear. "You remember that moment when you tasted me?"

"Yeah." Harry smiles at him fondly. "Which time, though?"

"Which time?" Louis repeats, voice going high. As if it's not a valid question. "My god, the _first_ time."

"I remember," Harry assures him. He leans down and kisses Louis' neck.

"Well, that was best sex I'd had in my entire life."

"I'd barely even touched you by then." He takes little licks at the sweat on his skin.

"I _know_ ," Louis complains. "And then everything that came after that? I don't even know what that _was_."

"That was a handjob, Lou," Harry says, pulling back to grin at him.

"That was _not_ a handjob, Curly," Louis says. "I think I would know the difference."

"All right."

Despite Liam's impending return, Harry finds himself tucking down onto Louis' chest for some actual cuddles.

"You were so gorgeous, Haz, and your voice — god, forget a career in singing, your voice was made for this shit. And the whole time, it was like you knew everything I wanted before I even did."

Harry giggles into his chest. 

This is one of Harry's favorite parts of sex with Louis. He always comes out of it feeling so _good_. And not just because he's just had sex with the hottest boy he knows. But because Louis is so ridiculously generous with the compliments. Even if he's already spent the entire time complimenting him, he still likes to give him a play by play of all the best parts and how amazing and beautiful and talented and wonderful he is.

Harry props himself up on an elbow. Louis' blue eyes are wide and wondering as he looks back at him. Harry smiles and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

And then they're interrupted by Liam knocking on the door for the fourth time.

 

 

"Unfortunately, he's had some bad news. His granddad's passed away," Louis says soberly.

The four of them are huddled on the sofa in one of the interview rooms at Syco studios.

"We just want to give our support to Zayn and his family," Harry says. As he speaks, he sees Zayn, who must have just finished his meeting with Carole, slip into the room behind the camera crew.

"I don't know what we're going to do without him," Liam says. "We don't know when he's coming back."

Harry meets Zayn's eyes but Zayn looks away, expression shuttered.

When they're done and finally walk out, Zayn doesn't say a word. Harry can hear Cheryl speaking and glances back at where she's doing her own close-up for the cameras now.

"To have one member of your group missing..." Cheryl is saying. "I want to help them. I want to comfort them."

"Are you okay?" Louis asks as he wraps an arm around Zayn's shoulders.

"I'm fine," Zayn says in a clipped voice. "Just reckon we should be practicing instead of going on about how much you miss me when I'm stood right in front of you."

"They just didn't have a chance to get it when you were actually gone," Liam offers weakly.

Zayn huffs.

"Don't be like that." Louis stops Zayn, forcing him to turn and face him. "This bollocks isn't our fault. We did miss you."

Harry can hear Sandeep's voice from the room saying, "With their mentor gone and one of their band members gone, the boys have had a really tough week."

"You knew I wasn't going to be here this week, though," Zayn says tightly.

"We knew?" Niall repeats.

"Lad, we didn't know until you weren't there in your bed the other morning," Louis says. He adds in a softer voice. "You could've told us, you know. No matter what The X Factor people told you to do."

Zayn turns in Harry's direction. "Well, _you_ could've told _me_."

Oh.

Harry hadn't thought that Zayn might think that Harry —

"I didn't remember," Harry says.

"You didn't remember," Zayn repeats flatly.

"I didn't," he insists.

"Well, good to hear my granddad _dying_ wasn't important enough to remember, then."

"Oi." Louis steps back. "That isn't his fault."

Zayn's eyes flick to where Louis is touching Harry's side.

"Would you have even wanted to know if I had remembered?" Harry asks him quietly.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"The girl said I can only change what I could've changed last time," Harry reminds him. "Do you think that's something I could've changed?"

Zayn's expression doesn't soften in the least. "Well, doesn't matter when I wasn't important enough to remember, anyway, does it?"

They're interrupted from talking more by Carole summoning them into a conference room.

 

 

"I want you to think about the Spice Girls," Carole says. "Now—"

"Which one?" Niall asks.

"Which what?"

"Which one should we think about? Can I think about Scary Spice?" Niall plucks at a string of the guitar he'd found in the meeting room Carole had brought them to. "Had a crush on her from the beginning."

"The beginning would've been before you were born," Carole says dryly.

"What?" Niall looks around the room. "Nah, that's not true. Is it?"

"Close enough. So—"

"I was more a fan of Posh Spice, meself," Louis puts in.

Harry shifts from where he's leaning against him to look up at him. "No, you weren't."

"Excuse me, I was. She married David Beckham, didn't she?"

"The Sporty Spice Barbie that Lottie had came with an accessory football," Harry reminds him.

After a moment's thought, Louis concedes, "I forgot about the football."

Harry tells him, "Posh was my favorite because she turned into a cat."

"It's possible that was just a _catsuit_ , Haz."

"I actually kind of liked Ginger—" Liam starts.

But Carole interrupts them with a "Boys."

They turn back to her.

She looks like she's about to say one thing, but then laughs and shakes her head. "Actually, I think you've all just proven my point here. The most important part of their images were the distinct personas we gave them. You were all young boys — too young to be anywhere near their demo — and you still all know your favorites."

"What do you mean, 'we gave them'?" Liam asks.

Harry settles back against Louis' side, feeling a bit sleepy. Louis rubs his thumb over his shoulder.

"I was just an assistant back then, so it wasn't really _me_ ," she says with a small smile. "But I wouldn't be here if I didn't have some experience with how this girlband, boyband thing works."

"That's grand." Niall leans forwards, excited. "What is Mel B like in real life?

"Not as scary as you'd think," Carole says. She rests her elbows on the table. "Now, if you think about boybands, it's the same. Or think about Friends, is there anyone who can't tell you whether their favorite is Monica or Rachel? The question is, what roles will you boys play?"

Niall raises his hand. "I'm the strong, silent one."

"That was a rhetorical question, mostly," she says. Then squints at him. "What did you say?"

"Strong, silent one," Niall repeats.

There's a moment of silence. Louis' hand stills on Harry's shoulder. Harry presses his hand to his mouth, trying not to laugh.

"Um," Liam says.

"I took this quiz, which boyband member are you? Here." Niall pulls out his phone from his pocket. He passes it to her. "Want to see who you are?"

"Maybe later, luv," she says. Then she turns to the boys as a group. "Look, you boys are brilliant singers and you're all very attractive and charming and, honestly, there's a bit of a vacuum to fill in boybands for your demo. I think you could make it quite far."

"But?" Harry says.

She taps a coral-lacquered fingernail against her cheek. "You know, your side sent me the preliminary marketing for you boys a while ago. They had you, Harry, pegged as the flirt, Louis as the class clown, Zayn as the mysterious one, Niall as the cute, young one and Liam as a caring boyfriend."

If she had expected surprise at any of that, none of the boys are showing any.

"But this week I got back to London and I finally had a chance to skim through all the footage I'd missed these past weeks," she says. "And suddenly Zayn was the flirt, Louis was the sweet boyfriend and, despite the fact that he takes over the stage every time you boys go out there, Harry had been pushed to the side." She shakes her head. "Not to mention that One Direction sounds like an almost completely different band."

Zayn folds his arms over his chest. Niall and Liam glance over at Harry.

"To be honest," Carole continues when no one says anything. "It's not even part of my job to be this involved right now. I'm sure you boys feel like your time would be better spent practicing than meeting with me all week and I think they'd just expected me to pick you out some better fitting clothing for the show this weekend. And, trust me, I will certainly still be doing that."

Harry watches her. If that was all she'd done last time, it would explain why he hadn't remembered her as much from this early on.

"But the personas they're giving you are changing, you're trending on twitter for things that don't even make sense and, especially after talking with Liam and Harry yesterday — well, the more I see and learn the greater the disconnect gets," she says. "And if I can't put you boys together into a cohesive image, your fans definitely won't be able to. You've got all the girls in Great Britain in your grasp right now and we need to get you back on the right track before you lose your opportunity."

"The right track," Zayn repeats, voice tense. "And what's that, then?"

She gives him a surprised look, likely at the hostility in his tone. No one has had a chance to even tell Zayn that Carole existed before she'd swept him up to meet with him this morning. As usual, Zayn's indignation on their behalf is full force even when he's angry at them.

"That's what we're trying to figure out here," she says placatingly. "I'm not saying that your team doesn't know what they're doing, but — well, someone's lost control of the narrative. And you boys have too much potential for me to just step aside."

They look around at each other.

"When was the last show you saw, then?" Louis asks her finally.

"Before I left the country?" she says. "I believe it was the second or third live show. Your song was something from Kelly Clarkson and they had a segment on Harry being sick with nerves. They had to give his part to Liam, I believe?"

"That was the second show," Liam says with a nod. Harry had come back from 2018 just before the third show.

"You were a very charming group back then, too," she says. "But you're a very different group today than you were."

"We are," Louis agrees cautiously.

"Look, this isn't your fault at all, boys," she starts. "I was just hoping that you might have some ideas. I'm a stylist. I'm not in PR or marketing. But your people seem to know even less than _I_ do and—"

"Tattoos," Harry interrupts.

"Pardon me?"

"Tattoos," Harry says. He meets her eyes entreatingly as he unfolds himself from Louis' side to sit straight up at the table. "Your first tattoo was a heart with your boyfriend's name inside it. It's on your right thigh."

She stiffens.

"You got it," he continues. "Because you'd just read Sylvia Plath and you thought it would be romantic."

"Did we meet before? Do you know my family or something, Harry?" She laughs a little, nervously.

"No... You're not really that close to them, anyways," Harry says. He bites his lip. "Just. Look. He broke up with you a week later. And you got his name done over with a dress form. You probably think you'd never recommend to anyone getting a couples tattoo."

"I wouldn't," she says slowly. "But, Harry, I haven't even taken the dress form design to a tattoo shop yet—"

"Oh," he says. 

"How did you know that I was even thinking of it?"

Harry glances back at Louis, who's watching him steadily, and turns to Carole again. Her bright eyes are still wide in confusion and concern.

"You met a boy who was sad because there were things he couldn't say. Important things," he tells her. "When he couldn't say a word, you taught him how to speak."

 

 

They only have a few minutes to sneak away for lunch and so they find themselves at the snack bar across from Syco Studios again.

"What the fuck is even happening?" Zayn asks suddenly into the silence of their table. "I'm gone for two days and we have a vocal coach and whatever Carole is—"

"She's a stylist," Harry says, poking at his bowl of ramen soup. He doesn't have much of an appetite since his throat's a bit dry from the cold.

" _Whatever_ she is," Zayn says. "I don't understand why you told this random stylist about the time travel. And why do none of the other acts have their own personal stylist and vocal coach, anyway?"

"Simon's been really invested in us," Liam says.

" _Really_ invested," Louis repeats.

"It's just the beginning," Harry tells him quietly. "We're going to have a lot more people around than that soon."

"Well, I don't get it. Everything's happening without our permission and we don't even have—" He's interrupted by a ding of Liam's phone. Liam glances at it and says that it's Sandeep and Hilde saying it's time to meet them back at the studio. "— See? We don't even have time to eat lunch anymore."

"You're upset because you don't have time to finish your sarnie?" Louis asks as they stand. Liam grabs Louis' wrappers along with his own and tosses them in the bin.

As he stands up, Zayn glares at him. " _No_."

"Take it with you," Niall advises as he shoves the last bit of his own sandwich into his mouth. "Eat it while we practice."

"You got in trouble just last week for bringing food into the booth," Liam reminds him.

"But that was just because I got pickle on that mic—"

"This isn't about the fucking sandwich," Zayn exclaims, tosses his into the bin with particular emphasis.

Harry catches the shopkeeper and the two older women sitting across the snack bar all giving them a look. He says quietly, "Come on. Not in here."

They make it to the front of Syco studios where there luckily aren't any fans waiting for them in the freezing cold.

Harry turns up the collar of his coat and coughs a couple of times into the folds of his scarf.

Louis' eyes flick over to him in concern, but he shakes his head. The tightness in his chest that had come back before lunch had been gone after two more puffs of his inhaler.

"We barely have time to sleep anymore," Zayn says finally. "And — fuck, like Harry keeps saying, this is just the beginning. The only reason they even let me go to the funeral for my own fucking grandfather was because they could turn it into a plotline."

He kicks ineffectually at the pile of shoveled snow on the edge of the pavement.

"Yeah, that was shit," Niall says quietly.

Liam nods.

Louis rests a hand on Zayn's shoulder, the sleeve from the hoodie he's wearing under his winter jacket tucked over his hand in place of the gloves he'd forgot at the house.

"So, why?" Zayn asks. "Why are we even doing this?" He turns to Harry, eyes dark in the cold mid-day sun. "Sounds like a lot of it was shit."

"Not most of it," Harry insists. "And it's not always like _this_. It's not The X Factor and Simon Cowell all the time for years. I mean, he's still pulling the strings, but we'll go months and months without even seeing him."

"And we might not even have to go with him this time," Liam says.

"Yeah, maybe we can sign with someone else." Niall blows on his hands in his gloves, dancing on his toes. "There's tons of other labels out there."

"Or at least we might get a better contract from the beginning, since we know what we're getting into," Louis suggests. "We are meeting a lawyer tomorrow." 

"Do you honestly think that's likely?" Zayn demands. He turns to Harry again. "Why is this even so important to you?"

"Apart from that I love you guys and you love singing?" Harry spreads his arms out. "I mean, playing stadiums like Wembley is, like, the best rush ever."

"I do want to play Wembley," Liam says.

"You change your mind on that again, mate?" Louis says, not unkindly.

"I might've, yeah."

"So, Wembley was, like, one night, three nights, whatever, but — do you guys all seriously still want to be in a fucking boyband?" Zayn asks. "No one's ever going to take us seriously. They already don't."

"Who wants to be taken _seriously_?" Louis asks. "Sounds proper horrible."

Harry gives him a smile, meeting the sparkle in his eyes. He turns back to Zayn.

"Eventually, we'll get to play more and more music we like. If we get to do that and make people happy, does it matter?" Harry asks. "I mean, if people don't take us seriously because our fans are mostly female, that's something wrong with the world, not with us."

"Plus, being in a band is a laugh," Niall says as he pops open a bag of crisps. "And I don't know about you all, but I want to be a popstar. Also I always wanted to learn how to play golf. Popstars get to play golf, right?"

"I'd forgot there was ever a Niall who didn't play golf," Harry says.

"Brilliant." Niall shoots him a grin. "Also, I'd like a car. Something fast."

Harry laughs even though it makes him cough a couple of times. He thinks about what he thinks was Niall's most recent car acquisition and offers, "A Jaguar?"

"That'd do it."

"I'm just so tired," Zayn says, visibly deflating. "This week has been so shit."

Louis steps forwards, but Liam who beats him to Zayn, letting him hold on tight and bury his face in his shoulder.

After a moment and another ignored ding from the phone in Liam's pocket, Harry coughs again and Louis tugs him by the arm and says, "Let's come on inside out of the cold, lads."

 

 

Their practice is probably not as bad as it should be, at least the beginning of it. 

Zayn's a bit dulled after breaking down outside, but once he pulls himself together, it turns out, while he hadn't replied to Liam's sending him the tabs, he had indeed practiced.

Hilde works with Niall and Liam on their harmonies, Sandeep works with Zayn on his verses, and it's when they get to Harry's parts — which they'd saved for later since he always needed the least assistance — that things are a bit... not excellent.

After the fifth time Harry's voice cracks when he tries to belt "I will never regret you" and Hilde urges him to try again, Cheryl interrupts.

"Harry's done," she says, voice hard.

"Perhaps if he practices a bit more —" Hilde starts in her soft accent.

"The lad's losing his voice and you want him to keep practicing?" She crosses his arms over her chest.

Harry starts to speak, but coughs instead.

"Are you sick, Harry?" Sandeep asks, brown eyes turning to him. "Are you getting a cold? You said you were coughing because of the weather—"

"It's even not that cold in here," Liam points out. The studios are fairly well-heated, it's true.

Harry thinks about how he'd woken a bit sniffly this morning and had thought it was just the lack of proper heating in the house, of the way his throat's been a bit sore since lunch and, now that he's paying attention, he is starting to feel a bit achy.

"What if he has what Matt had?" Niall asks. "Are you losing your voice, too?"

"Of course not," Harry tries to protest, hand going to his throat. He did get the pharyngitis going around the house last time, but it had been really early in the week. He remembers having days to recover before their show.

Louis is looking at him in concern.

"I'm fine," Harry tries again.

"I'm putting you on vocal rest," Cheryl decides.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry clicks stop on the backing track on his laptop, sets down his tea and walks over to Louis again.

Louis watches him, quirk of his brow under his spiky gelled fringe.

Harry pulls out his diary and points to the page, where he's already written, _fast and deep breath after 'moment'_.

"Right," Louis says.

Harry presses play again and comes to stand next to Louis. He slips his fingers between Louis' more slender ones and brings Louis' hand up to rest over his diaphragm. Louis watches with curious blue eyes. Harry gives him a small smile at him as the music builds to the bridge.

Louis starts again, loud and on key. Harry can't help it if his smile grows wider.

But then — Harry squeezes Louis' hand once and steps away.

He grabs his diary again and points to the words, _you're running out of air_.

Louis rubs the back of his neck. "I know, Haz. Just — love, I hate that you're wasting your time on me 'ere. You'll get your voice back and you're going to smash this tomorrow night."

Harry points at _you're going to smash it tomorrow night_. Then, for good measure, he takes his pen and underlines, _you're_.

Harry points to the notebook again — _loud_ — and Louis laughs.

The early morning sun peeks through the window to the practice room. Harry takes another sip of tea, bends down to his laptop and presses play on the backing track again. 

He stands up behind Louis again and slides his hand slowly down his arm to cover Louis' over his diaphragm. Harry settles his other hand on Louis' hip and rests his forehead on his shoulder and listens as the music builds again.

 

 

Last night, Harry had attempted to convince Louis not to sleep in his bunk because he was ill. Louis had argued that if Harry was going to make him ill, he would have done so already after that morning in the bathroom.

They had both ignored Liam's startled, wide-eyed demand to know what happened in the bathroom and, in the end, Harry had lost the argument by virtue of the fact that no one would let him speak.

Harry had woken up today sniffly, with an achy throat, and barely able to croak out a word. He had texted Hilde asking for steroids. She'd written back that he was too young. He'd glared at his phone for her hypocrisy until Niall had come up to tape the vocal rest sign they'd made yesterday — the one even Zayn had contributed an unhappy face to — over the Jack Wills on his hoodie.

 

 

Sometime later that morning, after a still-stunned-looking Carole gets his measurements and he lets her hold up swatches of subtly different shades of gray next to his face until she deems one appropriate for his skin color, after piling into one of the vans to Fountain Studios, after taking new promo pics for the semi-final, Harry sneaks into the room where Louis is wrapping up taping a quiz segment.

He's aware there are other people in the room, more than just the contestants, but he still slips onto Louis' lap, cuddling up to him on the interview room sofa.

Louis tenses. But instead of the shrieked complaints Harry expects about him slipping his cold hands underneath his hoodie to warm them against his skin, Louis wraps his arms tight around him.

"Are you always so cuddly when you're poorly, darling?" Louis asks softly once he's dispatched Zayn to make Harry a cup of tea and Liam on the — quite possibly futile — task to round up a blanket for him. "You were like this all day yesterday, too."

Harry shakes his head against his shoulder. And then thinks about it. He does tend to be a bit needy whenever he's ill. Has been known to pout until he gets adequate attention. 

But that's not really it. He pulls out his diary from his hoodie pocket and writes. 

_things seem different now_

"Do they?"

They do to Harry. There was something about the bathroom yesterday. About bringing Louis over the edge and kissing him through it. Staring into his bright blue eyes when they fluttered open afterwards and seeing himself reflected there. They suddenly seem to fit together more naturally than they had been, pieces falling back into place. 

Harry strokes his hand up and down Louis' side, feeling his skin goose-bump at the touch.

Louis shifts back to peer at him curiously.

Harry isn't sure what Louis sees there. But he must find something beyond a red and sniffly nose and circles under his eyes under the make-up from the photoshoot, because he gives Harry a small smile and he reaches up to thread his fingers through Harry's curls.

 

 

"What does that mean?"

Harry glances down. He has the "vocal rest ☹ ☹ ☹" sign taped on his hoodie, visible with his jacket unzipped. He looks back at Drew Pearson, Solicitor, with his thin wire-frame glasses, graying brown hair and hint of wrinkles around his eyes.

"I have a bit of pharyngitis," Harry says, voice rough. He clears his throat painfully. "M'not supposed to talk much."

"You're not supposed to talk _at all_ ," Liam emphasizes from where he's seated next to him. Harry sighs but, to be fair, he had, technically, agreed to that. They'd decided on their questions for the lawyer long before they'd sneaked away during Matt's sound check to this snow-covered brownstone in central London.

"Well, boys." Drew Pearson sits back in his chair and looks around at them. All five of them are squeezed into his office in the extra chairs dragged in from next door. "First off, this meeting is a courtesy to our mutual friend. You won't be my clients beyond today. Even if we did work with artists directly, you couldn't afford our retainer."

Harry is still getting used to thinking about the price tags on things, but that's probably quite true. 

Louis has been failing for the last two years to get together the small amount of money he'd need to replace his scratched-up phone. Liam's parents' have had to scrimp and save for his vocal lessons. Zayn's mother's recently lost her job as the halal chef for the local schools and Niall's parents are too busy sniping at each other over their small divorce settlement to put anything aside.

And, well, Harry can't even add music to his iPod anymore since he used up the gift card credit on his account. The fee for the meeting today had come from a loan from Robin. 

"Now, I read through your current contract," Drew is saying, holding up the copy that they'd sent over ahead of time. "But you've already signed them, and doesn't your show end soon? I'm not sure what it is you want me to tell you."

"Right," Liam says, sitting up straighter. "Well, we're expecting to be signed soon. We want to know what our options are."

"You think you're going to be signed?" Drew asks. "Has anyone made you an offer? Because that _would_ be going against the terms of this contract here. You can't negotiate with anyone besides Syco until three months after this series ends, and they have right of first refusal."

"Three months?" Zayn repeats.

"We just thought it best to be prepared," Liam says.

"But wouldn't your management be the best ones to discuss your options with? I can't help you get a record deal, boys."

Harry glances around at the other boys.

"Our management?" Louis asks. He glances at Harry. "We don't have management."

"Modest Management?" Drew raises his eyebrows at the boys' collective blank stares.

"They're just working with The X Factor," Liam tells him. "I think they're an option for after the show, but we're not working with them now."

"Not according to this."

"What?" Louis asks.

"Did you boys not read this at all?" he asks and picks up their contract and pages through, then points at a section. "This is a five-year agreement with Modest Management."

Harry leans forwards in his seat, clutching his diary to his chest. His eyes catch on the section their lawyer is pointing to, about managers and something about twenty-percent—

"What?" Louis demands.

"Are you sure?" Liam asks.

"Five years?" Zayn repeats.

"Modest, aren't they the ones who—" Niall starts, twisting around in his seat to look at Harry.

"They have the option to terminate your contract at their will," Drew says. "But if you attempt to terminate the contract, they can claim twenty percent of your earnings for the remainder of the five years."

Harry shakes his head, feeling gutted. The other boys have all turned to him, but he doesn't know what to say to that.

"This is quite standard for the industry these days, boys," Drew says. "Twenty percent is on the higher end and the termination conditions aren't fair, certainly, but, well, you did sign it."

Harry scribbles a question down in his diary and shows it to Louis.

"Is this only in effect if we sign with Syco?" Louis asks for him.

"It doesn't have any stipulation on who your recording company is," Drew says.

Harry feels his chest constricting with something other than the tightness he's needed his inhaler to take away all day. He hadn't been optimistic about getting away from Syco and Modest but to learn that they are already chained to Modest—

Those were essentially the terms they'd had with Modest before, and they were solid. Last time, years after this, they'd investigated options for getting out of this contract. But — he hadn't realized they'd signed it so _early_.

"Was that what you wanted to know?" Drew asks.

Harry meets Liam's eyes.

"No, actually," Liam says, sitting up straighter. "Well, our main question is about image clauses."

"Alright," Drew says. "Well, your contract does say that that The X Factor is permitted to portray you in any way they wish and that you cannot take them to court for slander, et cetera. Was there something they said about you that you weren't happy about?"

"No, no," Liam says.

"We were more concerned about us being taken t'court," Louis says.

"Have they indicated that's something they plan to do?" Drew frowns. "There are some strict non-disclosure clauses here regarding revealing anything about the inner workings of The X Factor and saying anything negative about Simon Cowell. Were you planning on going public with any information against them?"

"No, but..." Liam trails off.

Drew looks at him. "You do realize I can only help you if you tell me your actual question."

"Right," Liam says. He glances over at where Harry and Louis are sitting. Harry opens his mouth and Liam says — "Harry, please don't keep trying to talk."

The lawyer is starting to look a bit impatient.

Louis jumps in, "So I don't know if you watch The X Factor or know much about Simon Cowell, but—"

"My speciality does happen to be entertainment, kids," Drew says dryly.

"Right," Louis says.

"So," Liam picks it up again. "Simon Cowell put us together as a band a couple of months ago, and we have reason to think he has plans for us beyond The X Factor. And we're a boyband, so there are certain images that go along with that that he'll want us to fit."

"Ah, I see now." Drew sits back in his chair. "So what is it?" He shifts his eyes to each of them, one by one. "Drugs addiction? A criminal history? A secret baby?"

Louis glances at Harry, then blurts out, "We're gay."

Drew doesn't blink. "All of you?" 

Harry can't help a laugh, even though it makes his throat hurt and none of this is really that funny anyways. Louis glances at him, lips twitching into something like he a smile. Then he turns back to Drew.

"Two of us." He takes a deep breath. "Look, we know that once we get signed, we might have contracts saying we can't act any way other than what they what they want us to. We're planning on coming out before we sign those and wanted to get some advice."

"Well," Drew says after a moment. "It is fairly standard for recording contracts to include provisions about keeping in line with how they want to portray your personality — you know, scandals, sexuality, religion," he says. "Some even include specific details about appearance, clothing, tattoos, hairstyles, physical fitness..."

Drew surveys them for a long moment.

"Have they shown any explicit indication that being gay would go against their public image for you?"

Harry thinks about the microphones, about them approaching Louis to help him with his 'mannerisms', about the articles planted in the papers, about the segments about Harry flirting with girls —

"I'd say there are some pretty strong indications, yeah, mate," Louis says.

"Well." Drew exhales a long breath. "Then, boys, if it's so important to you to be out, I do wish you'd read these contracts."

"What does that mean?" Liam asks.

He picks up his copy of Harry's contract again and flips from the Modest Management section to point to a different page. Harry blinks at the section header Public Image.

"Your X Factor contract has those stipulations as well," he says.

 

 

The song ends with Zayn's drawn out 'Just like a tattoo, I'll always have you' and Sandeep shares a look with Cheryl. She shakes her head and he sighs and announces they're going to have to start over yet again. Their attempts haven't been terrible, but they're all a little tense, a little brittle after everything they've learned, and Louis in particular keeps pulling away when it comes to his parts.

Harry just huddles deeper into his coat in his chair at the Judges' Desk.

After they'd sneaked back into Fountain Studios, and been hurried on-stage by the harried assistants who'd been tasked with finding them, they'd tried having Harry sing with them. But as soon as he'd attempted to sing, his voice had cracked and he'd had coughing fit and been thereafter relegated back to his 'vocal rest ☹ ☹ ☹' sign.

He ignores the cameras directed on him, doubtless getting footage of him sitting pitifully on the sidelines, and just focuses on the way Louis curves his hand around his mic and starts a raspy, wistful opening verse.

Zayn takes the next verse then the four boys all have the chorus. Harry chews on his dry lip as he watches them. He wonders when he'll get used to how young they all look up there. Niall with his elfin hair and crooked teeth, Zayn without any tattoos or scruff, Liam like a shy bulldog puppy in a Bieber haircut.

His heart aches for what he wasn't able to do for them. They're already chained to Modest and might as well have already signed themselves over to Syco.

And a week ago, they'd made Harry and Louis promise to come out. For all that Harry had protested at the time, he's allowed himself these few days of hoping. He's allowed himself to imagine what this future could have been like, holding hands with Louis in the sunlight, not caring who saw them.

Harry blinks against the sting in his eyes and forces himself to pay attention again as Zayn takes the transition to the bridge. He scribbles down a distracted note in his diary to tell Zayn to hold out the 'I'll always have you' a bit longer to overlap Louis' lines.

Halfway through Louis' part, Harry tries his best to suppress a wince. It's not that he's off pitch, or that he's off time, or even that he's running out of air. 

It's the way he's pulled away minutely from the microphone, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way he's singing to the distance, not to the audience.

Harry follows him backstage when Cheryl calls for a break.

 

 

For a long moment, Harry watches Louis pace backstage. Then he pulls out his diary and sits down on one of the benches to start writing.

"I told you all it wasn't a good idea, H," Louis says without looking at him. "I have the first verse, I'm the loudest on the chorus and now I've got your bridge?"

"Louis—" he starts, then coughs.

"No, don't try t'talk, love, please," Louis says, turning around to face him. "I get that you're happy I have more lines this time, which is fucking amazing, Haz. But you'll have your voice back by tomorrow. Even if you don't, the others could do this better than me."

Harry scoots over and looks pointedly at the bench next to him. Louis looks like he's going to continue to argue but then sighs and sinks down beside him.

Harry points him to the words he wrote in his diary.

_10/9/2011_   
_1st single 1st time live_   
_released next day_

"Right. So the night was important?"

Harry nods and writes more.

_really really important_   
_to prove we were going to make it_

He pauses, then adds: _I had the bridge_

He points to the _really, really important_ again.

"Right," Louis says. "So you smashed it, yeah? And you're going to tell me your secret?"

Harry shakes his head with a bittersweet smile. Thinking about that night still makes him cringe inside.

_was so nervous_   
_fucked it up_

He goes back and adds a ' _completely_ ' before _fucked it up_.

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as that, love," Louis says.

Harry shakes his head resolutely and points to _completely fucked it up_ again.

"Even if that's true, we still did fine, obviously," Louis says, frowning at him. "Is that the moral of your story?"

Harry shakes his head. He points to _was so nervous_ then writes more.

_held back_   
_could barely hear me_

Louis tilts his head at him. "Okay?"

_i'm not a bad singer_   
_but people think i'm better than i am_

"What? No, Haz, don't put yourself down, you're a brilliant singer, obviously," Louis says, touching his arm, looking disturbed at even the suggestion.

Harry shakes his head and gives him a look to say that's not the point.

Then he writes _why?_ and points to _people think i'm better than i am_.

Louis rolls his eyes and says, "Because you're better than you think you are? Clearly?"

Harry shakes his head. Then he writes again.

_they'd rather hear the wrong note than not hear you at all_   
_if they're having fun they might not even notice_

_i learned this_   
_and then i learned how to be loud_

He looks up to see Louis giving him a small smile. He points at Louis with his pen and then writes again.

_don't pull away from the mic_

It's than that Liam appears, hands Harry a hot cup of tea and beckons them back on-stage. Harry scribbles one more line in his diary and tugs at Louis' sleeve to get his attention.

_everyone wants to hear you_

 

 

Harry doesn't get the opportunity to see if Louis takes his advice, because when he gets back to reclaim his seat next to Hilde at the Judges' Desk, he tries to use his inhaler only to find it's not working and the counter on the back is down to zero.

Which earns him to a trip to the clinic, where he receives a new inhaler and a pack of steroids — not for his voice, but for his asthma.

When the X Factor car drops him back at the house later that night, he finds the boys in the lounge with Matt and Mary. Liam is talking over the TV, mid-lecture about Louis and Zayn apparently having gone out back to smoke.

"And besides that it's against the rules and the _law_ , did you even care what that would do to your voices? Harry's already lost his. And who even knows what was in that, could be dirty or contaminated—?"

"Hey, I would only share the best with my man Zayn here," Matt interrupts. He leans over to give Zayn a fist bump.

Liam looks like he's about to explode. " _You_ gave it to them?"

Harry snorts out a laugh, covering his mouth a second too late. Everyone turns to see him standing there in the doorway.

Louis jumps up and immediately wrangles him into occupying his former position on the sofa between Zayn and Niall, tells him he'll put the kettle on.

Harry thinks he's probably already consumed more than his own weight in tea today, but he's not allowed to talk to protest anyways.

 

 

Later that night, Harry and Louis find themselves cuddled together in the armchair while a rerun of Strictly plays on the TV.

Mary's just been the last to leave them alone in the lounge when there's a ding and Louis pulls out his phone. He laughs a little and tilts it for Harry to see a text from a 'Poppy' saying that she'll be at the show tomorrow and she wants one of their One Direction t-shirts please.

"Who's Poppy?" Harry asks hoarsely. 

Louis presses his finger to Harry's lips in a chastising reminder and says, "The girl you keep calling The Traveler."

Harry tries to speak again but Louis gives a pointed look at his diary. Harry pulls out his pen resignedly and writes,

_how???_

"How is she texting me?" Louis asks. Harry nods. "Well, unlike some of us, I had the foresight to write down me phone number with me autograph."

Harry stares at him.

Louis just shrugs and says, "Has her eye on our scant merchandise, it seems."

Harry is still staring at him. Louis smiles a little, then leans in and presses his lips to Harry's.

Harry relaxes in a soft kiss, but then realizes what he's doing and pulls away. Not only is he sure he's particularly unattractive at the moment, all dry lips and stuffy nose and red eyes, but he's also full of germs.

"You're not going t'make me ill," Louis protests, clearly reading his mind.

But the last thing they need is Louis losing his voice, too, for tomorrow's show. So Harry is resolute.

Louis sighs but lets Harry settle back down with his head on his shoulder. Harry catches a particularly outrageous ballgown on one of the dancers on the TV and it makes Harry think of something.

He writes in his diary,

_Should I not have told Carole about me? She seems freaked out_

Louis laughs softly and says, "Well, you did start by telling her you knew about the tattoo on her thigh. Can see why that might be a bit creepy, that."

Harry winces.

"She does seem like she's going t'help us, though," Louis says. "Was asking me today how camp I wanted to be."

Harry writes down a question mark.

Louis gives Harry a wry smile and says, "I told her I wanted to out-camp Alan Carr."

Harry blinks at him, suddenly feeling tears sting in his eyes. Louis' lips part but before he can say anything, Harry puts his pen to paper again.

_i'm so sorry_

"Haz—"

_i'm too late_

He wipes at his eyes.

_why did she send me back too late to change anything?_

"Haz, no, you've changed _so much_ ," Louis says. "You've no idea."

Harry gives him a sad look and Louis presses another kiss to his lips before he can protest.

"Now," Louis says, rubbing his hand up Harry's back. "What was that about Carole and the tattoos you mentioned yesterday?"

Harry hesitates at Louis' obvious attempt to change the subject, but there really isn't anything else to say about the rest of it. So instead he writes down.

_i was sad_

He looks at that for a moment, then adds,

_you kissed E_

"E?"

_you spent the whole summer with her_   
_whilst I wasn't even allowed to sit next to you anymore_

Louis looks seriously disturbed for a long moment, but then realization seems to dawn on him and he asks, "Was she the fake girlfriend?"

Harry nods without looking at him, then bites his lip as he writes.

_you tweeted larry is the biggest load of bullshit i've ever heard_

"Larry? The name they call us?"

Harry nods and Louis tenses, eyes widening.

"I seriously fucking tweeted that?" he demands.

Harry looks at what he wrote, putting his hand on Louis' chest to make him relax back into the armchair. He crosses out the _you_.

" _I_ didn't," Louis says slowly, waiting for Harry's nod of affirmation. "That was one of the tweets you said management made for me."

Harry nods again.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he says. He touches his thumb over Harry's cheek.

Harry shakes his head. It's not Louis' fault. Not that one and certainly not this one.

He starts writing again to get back to the point.

_carole told us we could speak without saying a word_   
_"wear your heart on your skin in this life"_

He adds the attribution, _sylvia plath_.

_so i got tattoos_

Louis rubs Harry's back.

Harry continues writing.

_and you got tattoos_

He gives Louis a wry smile.

And then he looks down at his arms, where they're covered in his hoodie. He shifts next to Louis to take it off.

"What are you doing? Oh—" Louis says. Once Harry's got his hoodie over his head, he tosses it to the side and tugs at Louis'.

When they settle back into the chair together, they're both in short-sleeve tees.

Harry runs his fingers down the flex of Louis' bicep, because the skin is soft and it looks so nice. He catches Louis looking down at him, the quick dart of tongue over his lip. To keep himself from the temptation of kissing him again, Harry picks his pen back up and writes, over his own upper arm, the word 'ship'.

Louis looks at him. "You had a ship tattoo."

He nods. Then he pulls at Louis' arm and slides his fingers over his bare forearm. He writes the word 'compass'.

Louis stares at him.

Harry writes, 

_carole showed us her tattoo_   
_the heart_   
_said she would never recommend getting couples tattoos_

"But we got one anyway," Louis says.

Harry gives him a small smile.

_we got 13_

"Thirteen?" Louis repeats, shifting to look at him. "You mean t'tell me I had thirteen tattoos?"

Harry thinks about all the other tattoos. The ones for remembering good times, good people. The ones for all the other words they couldn't speak out loud. 

He points upward.

"More than thirteen?"

He points upward a few more times.

"A lot more than thirteen?" Louis collapses back into the chair and sighs.

Harry smiles at him and writes,

_weren't allowed to talk about so much_

He touches his fingers to the crooked ' _compass_ ' on Louis' arm.

Harry thinks about all the subtly matching clothing they'd worn, thinks about Carole saying, "Have you ever thought about becoming fans of Pink Floyd?", thinks about triangles and about rainbows.

_when we couldn't speak, carole gave us words_

Louis presses a kiss to his neck, then one to the crook of his shoulder. And then he says, "This time, we'll have words, darling. I promise."

Harry gives him a sad smile, knowing that's not something he can promise. Not when they've already signed away their right to speak.

So he just lines up their arms, points at the words compass and ship.

Harry writes, _we fit together._

"We always did, darling. Always would've, wouldn't we?" Louis says. Then he grins. "Now. What were the other tattoos? Show me."

 

 

That night, Harry still isn't allowed to talk, but after Louis falls asleep, there's no one to stop him.

"I love you," he whispers into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Lou. I love you, I love you, I'm sorry."

 

 

It's just a few minutes before their second song of the night. 

The boys are all arranged backstage in the complementary gray-and-white outfits Carole had picked out for them. They're all still a bit tetchy but by silent agreement not saying more than a word or two about their meeting with the lawyer yesterday.

Harry catches sight of Louis down the corridor talking with the young girl with long brown curls. The Traveler. Poppy. Once again, she'd only been interested in talking to Louis. Not that Harry could blame her.

Harry's voice is back, but barely. And so, with the combined pressure of Harry, Liam, Cheryl and their vocal coach, they'd managed to get Louis to agree to keep his lines in Tattoo.

Louis has his arms crossed around himself. Despite his protests that it is 'cold as fuck backstage, mate', he's in the short-sleeved shirt Carole had picked out for him.

Of course, that meant they had to go the extra effort of scrubbing his skin raw to get off the ink marks of the tattoos Harry had drawn on him last night.

But right now, looking over the bare skin over the toned muscles of his arms, it gives Harry an idea. He glances around and his eyes light on the Sharpie one of the production assistants has in her hand.

 

 

As the adverts start playing for the break before their performance, Harry presses the tip of the pen onto Louis' forearm.

Maybe there's a lot Harry can't give his beautiful boy, but he can give him this.

He writes,

_please be loud_

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Semi-Final - [Chasing Cars](https://youtu.be/17-K2YBCZBQ?t=54) / [Only Girl in the World](https://youtu.be/Ihj8G5EJCDw?t=117)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to chapter 20, the chapter you need... and also the chapter you deserve?

"You were brilliant, Lou," Harry says, grinning as he throws his arms around Louis' shoulders.

"That was all you, Hazza," Louis says softly, blue eyes sparkly in the veranda light shining in through the window.

"No, that was _you_ ," Harry insists, smiling. He pushes Louis' sleeve up, revealing the words written on the inside of his forearm. "All I did was tell you to sing."

"Reckon you did a tiny bit more than that, love," Louis says. His hands push up under Harry's jumper to rest on his hips.

They're back at the house and have just finished watching the replay of their performances. Harry can hear Matt, Niall and Cher in the lounge playing a video game, Zayn and Liam have disappeared somewhere and Harry isn't sure where all the others are. But he and Louis are alone in the kitchen.

"You know I had a chat with Poppy, your Traveler, tonight." Louis rubs his thumbs over the bare skin of Harry's sides. Harry nods. "I was thinking about it, how could anyone prove it was you who traveled back in time and it wasn't just that the rest of us have eight years' worth of amnesia? And you're the only one who gets t'remember?"

"Except the world is a bit stuck in 2010," Harry points out.

"And stuck in this cold fucking winter," Louis adds, making Harry laugh.

"It'll warm up again, Lou, I promise."

"Well, Poppy, she said that's what it is."

"It's amnesia?" Harry says.

"I don't know. I don't even know how much _she_ understands it, t'be honest," Louis says. The gentle traces of his fingers over Harry's side is making him shiver. "But she did say it's all down to the memories. She can bring the memories back from the future, but she can't make them disappear without something to replace them with. That's why this time travel business is a one-way ticket."

Harry regards him for a moment, Louis' earnest eyes focused on him, the light from the window giving his cheeks a stark shadow. And then he says, "I don't want a two-way ticket, Lou. I don't want to forget."

"I know," Louis says. "But, good. That's good because you can't." He smiles at him. "And just—you really can't change things you couldn't have changed when you were sixteen. No stopping wars or making Elton John the new prime minister or whatnot. She told me that again."

Harry bites his lip, looking at him. Finally, he says, "I'm sorry I didn't come back in time to change the things that mattered."

"You did, though, Haz," Louis says, pulling back to look at him. "Do you really have no idea?"

"No, I know—"

"Honestly, it's a fucking insult t'me to say you haven't changed anything, darling," Louis says, voice more gentle than his words.

"Louis," Harry entreats.

"Do you know, a few weeks ago, I was in this fucking brilliant band," Louis says quietly, eyes clear and focused on him. "And that was the best thing that ever happened t'me, wasn't it? Was put together with these four fantastic lads and we were going to be popstars or summat. But I was still scared and alone and I fancied this boy and I was afraid I'd ruin everything for him if I let him know. And on top of that, I couldn't even sing. I was in a band and no one even wanted to hear me voice. Do you know what that felt like?"

"Lou—" Harry says, feeling his chest tighten.

"And then you came, Hazza," Louis insists. "You came and you've changed _so much_. And even if you hadn't, if you couldn't have changed anything, you still came back for me."

Harry looks at him and Louis' eyes are so earnest. Harry hopes it's true. Hopes that he really can make some things better for this boy, even if there are so many things he can't do.

He reaches up and brushes his thumb over the hint of stubble over Louis' jaw.

"I love you," Louis whispers.

"Lou," Harry says, smiling a little. "You don't have to say that."

"I know I don't _have_ to say that," Louis says, straightening up indignantly. "I'm still _saying_ it."

Harry laughs.

"Would've loved that sixteen-year-old boy, too, you know," Louis says.

"I know. And you did, Lou. You loved him so well," Harry says. He presses a soft kiss to Louis' lips, and he can feel his indignation calm under the kiss. "I love you, too."

"Yeah?"

"Always love you," Harry leans in to kiss him again and Louis' lips fall open this time. Harry presses his tongue inside.

Louis moans and pushes Harry back against the wall, deepening the kiss. His hands grip at Harry's sides then slide up his back.

Harry grabs at Louis' hips, at the jut of his hipbones under his jeans, and tugs him closer.

Louis breaks the kiss, catching his breath. His pupils are wide in the light of the window.

Harry licks his lips. "Can I blow you, Lou?"

Louis' eyes widen. "Can you—"

"Please?" Harry asks. Then backtracks. "I mean, if you want. Only if you want."

"Fuck, Haz, of course I bloody _want_ —"

And then there's the sound of a car crash from the game in the living room and a groan of defeat from one of the boys in there.

Harry leans forwards, giving Louis' lower lip a gentle bite, and then says, "Bathroom?"

"Is the bathroom gonna be a bit of a tradition for us, yeah?" Louis asks, smile curving at his lips even as he still looks a bit stunned at the idea.

"That a problem?" Harry teases. He tugs Louis closer again by his hips, giving them both friction against their crotches. "Mary claimed that extra bedroom."

"Fuck, no," Louis gasps out. "My god, Haz, just don't know if I'll make it there."

"You'll make it," Harry promises him, smiling up at his beautiful, beautiful boy. "you'll make it."

 

 

Afterwards, Louis asks, "Will you go out with me, love?"

"Out?"

"Yeah," Louis says, nuzzling the side of his neck. "Reckon it won't be a proper date, but there's some clubs a stop or two from 'ere."

"You want to go dancing?" Harry asks. "Right now?"

"If you want?" Louis says, lifting his head up to look at him, brow wrinkling. "Could do something else..."

Harry thinks about it. They're not that well-known yet and it will be dark inside a club, they probably _can_ go dancing together without the world ending.

And Harry's frustrated and tired of worrying and maybe it won't be long before he won't be able to be seen close to Louis in public anymore.

So he tells him, "Would love that, Louis."

"Yeah?" Louis' eyes brighten.

Harry nods. He glances down at himself and says, "Should have a shower first, though."

Louis glances down at the bit of stickiness still drying on Harry's stomach, and says, sounding amused, "Yeah, you probably should." He looks up, gives Harry a quick kiss and says, "Darling, look, I've something I need to do real quick. Meet me downstairs after and we'll go?"

"Alright," Harry says, smiling as he kisses him again.

 

 

Harry wakes to — in order — the jostle of the bunkbed as his bedmate jumps off, a horrific pounding in his head, a queasy twist in his stomach and — he lifts his hand — the smear of a nightclub stamp on the back of his wrist.

A nightclub that has to be among the sleaziest in London to have let his poor sixteen-year-old self get in this state. Harry rubs his eyes against the unwelcome wintery sunlight through their dorm window.

"What t'fuck did they do t'me hair?" 

Harry blinks at the indignant rasp from the en-suite.

There's a sleepy groaned "shut up" from across the room in response.

The en-suite door slams open and, in the bleary morning light, Harry catches Louis' figure stamping through the piles of clothing on the floor of their room. His hair doesn't look particularly different than usual. If anything, it's less disheveled that it probably should be if he's feeling anywhere near as rough as Harry is this morning.

And, if the world is a fair place, he will be feeling worse. Seeing as it was Louis' idea to try to sneak Harry into that club in the first place.

After a moment of sounds of rustling over the bedside table, he hears Louis speak again.

"Seriously, Malik, what t'fuck is this?" 

Harry blinks down at the sight of Louis sneering at the green bottle of hair gel he's plucked up. "This is yours, isn't it? I'd 'ave expected it of the others, but — Jesus, why t'fuck is it green?"

"What the hell mate?" Zayn demands angrily, bunching up his pillow as he sits up in bed. "Are you off your tits? Give that back — what are you doing?"

"A favor."

And Harry catches Zayn jumping out of bed just in time to keep Louis from pouring out his bottle of hair gel into the bin.

"What's going on?" Niall asks sleepily.

"I, er—" Liam swings his legs over the side of his bed cautiously. And, god, if Liam isn't even up yet it's definitely too early for this. He glances up at Harry. "Is Louis okay?"

"No, Louis is _not_ okay," Zayn answers, yanking his hair gel away from Louis. "He's about to be murdered for waking me up _and_ trying to bin my hair supplies. You know how expensive this was."

Louis rolls his eyes. "If this shit was a single pence over a hundred quid, I'll eat me shoe."

"A hundred quid?" Zayn repeats, then shakes his head to glare at Louis again. "Seriously, mate, what's your problem?"

Louis just narrows his eyes at him.

Harry groans and has to finally give up on the idea of closing his eyes and pretending this is just a dream and Louis has not just woken up the entire room to complain about Zayn's hair gel.

He makes himself properly sit up and the covers slip down to bear his naked shoulders to the cold of the room.

He asks, "Are you alright, Lou?"

Louis' eyes jerk up to him, breaking his glare at Zayn, and he completely freezes. His lips part as he stares. 

"Louis?" he repeats, starting to feel concerned.

"Hazz—" Louis' voice breaks. For some reason, he looks utterly devastated. " _Harry_."

"What's _wrong_?" Harry demands. He takes a step down off the bunkbed and then jumps down onto the floor.

Louis shakes his head, eyes still wide. "Nothing, I'm just—"

"Lou, you can go back to bed," Harry says gently. He reaches out to touch Louis' shoulder but Louis flinches back away from him. "I'll get you a paracetamol."

"Paracetamol?" Louis repeats.

"For your hangover?" Harry says. "If you're feeling half as rough as me you probably need it."

Louis reaches up to touch his temple and repeats, "Hangover. Right." Then he shakes his head again. "No, Haz — No. That's. I'm fine."

"Are you?" Harry says.

"Just need a shower," Louis says dumbly. He finally takes his eyes off Harry to shoot a glare at Zayn. "And some proper hair product."

 

 

When Louis makes it downstairs, Harry pushes a cup of Yorkshire tea and a paracetamol into his hands before he can protest again that he doesn't need it.

Louis is still staring at him when Rebecca passes them in the kitchen.

"You were brilliant last night, Louis," she says with a touch to his shoulder.

"Thank you?"

The wariness in Louis' voice makes Harry worry he's pulled some sort of prank on her that he hasn't heard about yet.

 

 

By the time they make it to the lounge, it's pretty obvious that Louis is avoiding him.

If the way Louis has been flinching away from him ever since he woke him up wasn't enough clue, Louis doesn't join Harry on the sofa and instead he plops down next to Liam in the armchair, half on his lap, slinging his arm around his shoulder.

Liam gives Harry a startled, wide-eyed look and asks, "Er, Louis?"

"Hmm?" Louis takes a sip of his tea.

"Er. never mind," Liam says.

Harry catches Niall and Zayn looking between him and Louis. He's starting to get a sinking feeling about this. 

There are parts of last night, after they'd had their first few shots at the club, that aren't the clearest in his mind. Had he done something to upset Louis?

He wraps his arms around himself.

"Apparently we're trending on twitter again," Niall says after an awkward moment.

"Right." Liam shifts under Louis' weight to turn back to his phone. "The hashtag is pleasebeloud."

"Please be loud," Louis repeats. He frowns down at his arms and then pushes up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal the words in Sharpie across the inside of his forearm. They're only slightly faded since last night.

Then Louis lets the sleeve of his tee fall back down. He wraps his arm around Liam's shoulders again and takes a sip of his tea without saying anything else.

"So, there's, er," Liam starts again, looking a bit frazzled again. "There are things we need to talk about."

"We do," Zayn agrees. Harry watches Louis' eyes flick over to Zayn, narrow, and then look away.

"We were talking about it last night when you two were gone," Liam says. 

"Another conversation about the future of the band where Louis and I just happen not to be there?" Harry asks. Between the pound of his headache and the concern over the way Louis' acting this morning, it comes out more snappish than he intends.

All the boys look at him, Louis' staring at him from his perch next to Liam.

"Sorry," Harry says. 

"It's just that you weren't here," Niall says, sounding distressed.

"Yeah, we hadn't meant to talk without you," Liam starts.

But then they're interrupted by their ride arriving to take them to Fountain Studios.

 

 

Harry plops down into one of the chairs in the empty office and glares into the bottom of his cup, now empty save for the few instant coffee granules stuck to the bottom.

He pulls out his phone, because he's just now remembered he was going to supposed to text Gemma this morning, and finds it open to a missed call. No, that's a received call, just from an unknown number. From last night, apparently. He doesn't remember talking to anyone on the phone last night, let alone for — he squints at it — two minutes and twenty-three seconds.

Before he can think about it too much, however, Liam comes in the door. And then Zayn. Followed a couple of minutes later by Niall and Louis.

Harry offers Louis a tentative smile, but any hope that he's forgot whatever has had him on edge this morning is dashed when Louis gives him an indecipherable look before quickly breaking eye contact.

They're all styled now from their painfully early photoshoot. Louis had continued his hung-over strangeness, from petulantly directing Richard how to do his hair to looking confusedly at Carole when she handed him the well-fitted jeans and long-sleeve tee she'd chosen for him. 

At the photoshoot there were no silly poses or popping his hip or funny voices or distractions at all. He'd just obeyed the photographers with uncharacteristic patience.

The most interaction he'd had with Harry this morning so far has been when he attempted to stop their makeup assistant from using a cover-up on his spots that was just going to make him break out more.

Right now, instead of joining the rest of them at the table, he stays by the wall, feet apart, arms crossed over his chest as he watches them.

"So, we should talk," Liam tries for the second time that morning.

"Why does this feel like a fuckin' breakup speech, mate?" Louis teases, but there's a little more affection, little less barb in it than usual.

"Well." Liam looks stymied.

"With what the lawyer said, maybe it should be," Zayn cuts in.

Harry stares at them.

"We said we weren't willing to do this if things weren't different this time," Liam says quietly.

"Yeah," Niall agrees, looking sad.

Harry glances at Louis, who meets his eyes only briefly, and is otherwise silent. Harry wonders if he feels the same way, if that's what this is about.

"If we don't go with Syco, we probably won't be able to go with anyone," Harry reminds them. "And if we don't go with Modest, we won't even be able to have _solo_ careers. You heard what James' lawyer told us. Shouldn't we at least talk about this?"

"That's what I've been trying to do," Liam says, scratching the back of his neck. "Talk."

Niall suddenly holds his hand up. "Do you think this room is wiretapped?"

"Of course it's not fucking wiretapped," Zayn snaps.

But Liam and Niall are both looking to Harry, who rolls his eyes.

"No, I don't think it's wiretapped," Harry says. He leans down to reach into his bag for his copy of their contract. There were some extra notes on it from their lawyer. But as he starts to pull it out, an envelope falls onto the floor.

Niall bends down to hand it to him and Harry frowns at the 'Haz' in familiar handwriting on the front of it.

"Lou? You wrote me a letter?" Harry asks, taking it from him. "Why would you write me a letter?"

Louis looks at him blankly. "Why don't you read it?"

Harry frowns at him and starts to unfold it. Then he hesitates. His chest clenches at the realization that could tie these two strange things together — the way Louis is acting and a mysterious letter from him.

He absolutely wouldn't blame Louis for breaking up with him, but just last night, everything had seemed so good between them. What had Harry done last night that he can't remember?

"Should I read it here, though?" Harry asks. Louis doesn't answer. 

Harry doesn't consider Louis someone who would break up with him in a letter. But if he was, he doesn't think he'd be cruel enough to let Harry read it in front of the others like this.

Maybe this morning is all a misunderstanding — or maybe it's a prank? And the letter is cluing him into it? It's the best Harry can think of before he opens it.

But then he starts reading.

_Hazza, If it doesn't work and you find this, reckon I'll look a right twat. But if it does work, I won't remember to be able to explain. So here it goes._

In the background, he can hear the other boys talking, hear Liam say something about the future and some confusing words from Louis and then more confusion from Zayn and Niall, but — Harry can't stop reading.

He doesn't look up until he gets to the end, fist pressed against his mouth.

"Um. Lou?" Harry asks cautiously, cutting through the other boys' conversation.

Louis and the others all turn to him.

"What is it?" Louis asks. But then he seems to take him in and he quickly comes around the table to him. "Harry, are you crying?"

Harry shakes his head.

Louis is kneeling before him now. He reaches up to brush the wet away from his cheeks. But Harry stops him with a gentle hand.

"Louis, um. I'm just," Harry starts. Then he takes a ragged breath. "You know that song we sang last night?"

"Yes?" Louis says.

"Chasing Cars?" Harry prompts.

"Right, what about it?"

There's a confused moment of silence in the room.

"Wait, but we didn't sing—" Liam starts.

"No, um." Harry bites his lip, feeling his chest clench. "Actually, it's the song we sang a week ago that I'm thinking of."

"You want to know what song we did a week ago?" Niall asks. "Summer of 69?"

"Not that one," Harry says. He glances at Niall, willing him to cooperate, though Niall just looks back at him confusedly. Harry turns to Louis, still crouched before him, and asks, "The other one — what was it again?"

He watches Louis' eyes dart away, as if having to remember, and then back to him.

"That'd be You Are So Beautiful," he says.

Harry wipes his eyes.

"What?" Zayn demands.

"But that wasn't—" Niall starts.

"Maybe it was from the week before?" Harry persists. "Beatles week?"

"Yeah, we did—" Liam starts.

"Louis, do _you_ remember?" Harry cuts him off.

Louis looks around at all of them, then says to Harry, "Beatles week was All You Need is Love. What about it?"

Harry shakes his head, blinking his eyes. Before he can brush it away, a tear falls from his cheek onto the letter in his hands. He looks down to see the spot of wetness spread over the word _sunshine_.

He can hear Louis asking, "Harry, what's going on?"

And Liam demanding, "Is this a prank?"

And Zayn saying, "Harry's crying, though."

And Niall pointing out, tentatively, "Louis could've just shown him a picture of a sad kitten."

"I didn't show him a fucking sad kitten," Louis snipes. He turns back to Harry, expression softening. "Hazza, tell me what's wrong, please."

"Louis." Harry bites his lip, so afraid to know the answer, but he asks anyway, "What makes you beautiful?"

"What makes you beautiful." Louis' light blue eyes widen incrementally as he looks up at him.

"That's a question," Harry says. "What makes you beautiful?"

"A question," Louis repeats. After a moment of searching Harry's eyes, he says, "What makes you beautiful is — that you don't know you're beautiful."

Harry lets out a sob, covering his mouth with his fist.

"Hazza, what's going on? Is this a dream or summat—"

"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "No, it's not a dream, Lou. Fuck. Okay, just—" He lets out a breath and looks down at him. "What do they add up to?"

"What do they...?"

"The little things," he says insistently. "What do they —"

"You," Louis says. "They add up to you."

"What are you guys doing?" he hears Liam ask. But Harry can't stop now, he has to know.

"And, um. What's written on these walls?"

"The colors that I can't change," Louis says. "Harry, what are we doing?"

Harry shakes his head. "What changes?"

"What changes—" Louis interrupts himself with the answer, "The night, Haz. The night changes."

Harry asks, with trepidation, "And what am I not good at?"

Louis looks at him for a long moment before he says, "Making promises."

"Yeah," Harry says sadly. "And, um—"

"Who isn't who they used to be?" Louis interrupts.

It takes Harry a second, but then he shakes his head fiercely. 

"That doesn't count, Lou. That doesn't count." He wipes his eyes. "I wrote that before Perfect. You're going out of order."

"Is the order really what's important here?" Louis asks.

"What is this, some sort of word game?" Zayn demands.

Harry had almost forgot they weren't alone. The other boys are staring at them from the other side of the table in various states of confusion.

"Or were those song lyrics?" Niall pipes up.

"Will someone tell me what the fuck's going on?" Louis demands of them.

"All I know is we didn't sing Chasing Cars last night. Or You Are So Beautiful last week," Niall tells him.

"And we didn't do All You Need is Love for Beatles week," Liam says. "But Harry said that's what we sang the last time he did this."

Louis frowns. His hand goes up to his hair, fingers twisting over the gelled spikes of it that, if this had been eight years ago, should've been in a straight, soft bowl-cut.

"This is real, Louis," Harry tells him. "It's not a dream or hallucination or whatever else you're thinking. I'm so, so sorry."

" _What_ 's real?"

Harry glances down at the letter clutched in his hand and blinks teary eyes down at it before he hands it to Louis.

He watches Louis skim down the scrawl of his own eighteen-year-old handwriting on the paper. He bites his lip as Louis starts to read aloud. He starts softly, as if just to himself.

_And there are things that you couldn't have changed, no matter what you did. Maybe these were things I could've fixed, though. Only right now I don't know how._

He glances at Harry, then continues.

_You'd probably argue I'd have preferred the amnesia, but I reckon I know myself a little bit and, no matter how hard things were, I don't think I would've wanted to forget._

His brow is creased as he keeps reading:

_I don't know why this feels like such a fucking goodbye. I'm not going anywhere. Just losing a few weeks' worth of memories._

"What's going on?" Zayn demands.

"I wouldn't mind knowing that, either," Louis says, looking at Harry as he hands him the letter back.

"Louis, what year is it?" Harry asks him carefully.

"Well, I'd say it _seems_ t'be 2010," Louis says.

"And what year was it yesterday?"

Louis regards him for a moment. "2018."

Harry nods.

"Do you all — you, too?" Louis starts, looking around at the rest of them. 

"No," Harry answers for them, voice thick. "No. Just me. But, well. I suppose it's you, now, too, and—" He's suddenly crying too much to just blink away and he stands up, hands clenched tightly in the pockets of his hoodie. "It was never supposed to be. I have to — I can't. You're such a fucking idiot, Lou. I'm so sorry."

 

 

Harry washes the tears off his cheeks, blows his nose, and then peers into his reflection.

His own big round green eyes are rimmed in red to match his lips.

Louis is gone. His Louis, of the past six weeks, is gone in a fit of romantic idiocy. Maybe Harry couldn't have fixed everything, but he could have made _some_ things better. And now his chance to make life better for him, to spare Louis the pain of eight years of being aggressively shoved and brainwashed into the closet — it's all undone.

His letter had asked him to understand, reminded him that he'd decided to give him a choice this time. Promised him that he knew himself and that he wouldn't regret this.

If he was still here, Harry would try to talk him out of it. Which is doubtless why he hadn't told him except in a letter meant to be found after the fact. But—

It hits him suddenly like a thump to his chest.

Louis is here.

 _Louis_ is here.

Louis.

The Louis Harry had last seen in person over two years ago.

The Louis Harry had _broken up with_ over two years ago.

The Louis Harry had spent five years with.

The Louis Harry's stalked on fan accounts, played footage of his concerts on repeat, kept his photos in hidden, secret locations on his phone to look at in his loneliest moments.

Louis is back in that office with the other boys doesn't have memories of the last six weeks, not the new ones, but he does have memories of the last eight years.

Harry needs to get back there.

But as soon as he steps out of the gents' room, he runs into one of the production assistants in the hallway, who looks thrilled at her luck in coming upon an unwitting contestant and grabs him to film an interview segment.

 

 

And so it's a good while later that Harry gets escorted back to the office where the remainder of One Direction is still sitting, and he gets himself swapped out for Niall for the next interviews.

Which leaves him alone in the office with Liam, Zayn and... Louis.

Everyone is silent. Conversation ended as soon as Harry and the assistant had shown up at the door. Louis is leaning back in a chair, ankles propped up on the conference table, a packet of papers that looks like their X Factor contract in his lap.

He meets Harry's eyes as Harry steps back inside.

Now that Harry knows what to look for, he is very different from the Louis he's most recently been used to.

His blue eyes are steadier, body a lot more still. Instead of fidgety energy, there's a tension contained deliberately within him. He has his elbows rested on the arms of the chair, chin resting on his steepled fingers.

He has a presence his younger self was only starting to get.

And there are only the four of them in the room, but Harry suspects that even if there had been four hundred, four thousand, all their eyes would still be drawn to him.

"You're back," Liam says finally.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles. "I was just surprised and, um, didn't mean to just run out on you. And then, interview and—"

"Are you sorry for calling me an idiot, too?" Louis asks.

Harry winces. "Well, it wasn't _you_ , exactly, who I was calling that."

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"I mean, I could've put it better," Harry says. "But the sentiment's still there. I never wanted..." He trails off, shaking his head. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"We've been getting Louis caught up," Liam says.

"On what?" Harry asks.

"Let's see," Louis says. He counts out on his fingers. "We've been through the changes in songs, changes in our marketing, whatever you've told 'em about the future that led to them demanding that we come out of the closet before they'll sign any contracts, and how you've all just now learnt you'd already signed those contracts."

"So a lot," Harry says.

"Well, you were in an interview all this time," Louis kicks his feet off the table and sits forwards in his chair. "You can talk rather slow and Payno here actually knows how to answer direct questions. So we got caught ourselves up pretty quick, I reckon."

"Hey," Harry says, pouting out of habit.

It makes the corner of Louis' lips turn up just slightly and just that tiny motion sends warmth flooding through his chest.

"So you believe it?" Harry asks. He sits down cautiously in the chair next to Louis.

"Seeing as we don't seem to have time set aside for an existential crisis today, I've decided to believe you lads—" Louis says, then points a warning finger at Liam and Zayn. "On a temporary basis."

"Understood," Liam says.

Harry opens his mouth. There are a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue ranging from sympathetic to helpful, but instead of any of them coming out, he ends up demanding, "Why didn't you ever tell us about your mic?"

"I've used a lot of mics, love," Louis says. "There a particular one I was supposed t'be talking about?"

"How about the one that was off."

"Ah, that one." Louis purses his lips. "Well, Payno here knew."

Liam startles. "I did _not_."

"You most certainly did," Louis says.

"I most certainly did _not_."

"He didn't know the reason why it was off til a good time later," Louis tells Harry. "If that makes you feel better."

Harry is about to inform him that none of this is going to make him feel better, when they're interrupted by one of the PAs, come to get them for an interview.

 

 

"Sugarscape, then?" Louis says in a low voice, taking in the sign on the door where they've been left to wait.

Harry nods. "Crazy, isn't it?"

"Reckon it's not the _craziest_ part of this," Louis says. "That was a fucking era, wasn't it?"

Liam looks at them. "So you knew them in the future?"

"We did a few interviews with them," Harry says.

Louis shakes his head, a smile coming over his face. "Still don't know why Modest kept letting us near them."

"What do you mean?" Liam asks.

"That interview I told you guys about," Harry says. "That was with them."

Zayn's eyes widen. "You mean the one where you kind of came out?"

Louis raises his eyebrows. "That doesn't quite narrow it down, lad."

"So that was real? That Harry did try to come out lots of times?" Liam asks. "That it really never stuck?"

Harry looks away from Louis to Liam and gives a shrug, sobering.

"Never stuck, yeah," Louis confirms softly. "One of our last promos, we still had Ellen hazing our Hazza here for all the women he's slept with."

"Ellen? From the talk show?" Liam asks.

"He had some words with her afterwards, though," Louis says, lips twisting up into rueful smile.

Harry blinks. "You knew about that?"

"Might've overheard you," he admits.

"Oh." Harry slumps back against the wall. It had been barely a couple of weeks after they'd broken up. He'd approached Ellen after the show, tired and strung-out and just so over all of it, and demanded to know why she'd do that. When she knew, she had to have known... 

"World's become proper fucked when Harry Styles ends up opposite Ellen Degeneres on any issue, innit?" Louis offers quietly.

Harry looks at the floor. "My team wanted to book me with her last year. Would've been good promo, but I just — I couldn't."

"Yeah."

"Who'd have thought Ellen would be one of the last to keep us in the closet?"

"Just added one more padlock to the door there, yeah," Louis says. "But, about that, love—"

But they're interrupted by the Sugarscape door swinging open and their familiar blond interviewer beckoning them inside with a grin.

 

 

"What are we doing — Louis, we're supposed to be at that interview—"

"And what do you think they're gonna do, lad, kick us off the show if we skive off a chat with a third-rate rag?" Louis asks. He tugs at the handle of the third X Factor van he's attempted to open and — finally has some success. 

"It's with The Sun. So, yeah, they might," Liam says.

"Well, then that'll be one way t'rid yourselves of all your pesky little problems," Louis says dryly as he slides the door open all the way. Then he gestures inside. "Now get in, lads."

Niall hops up into the van without questioning it, but Zayn asks suspiciously, "Why are we going in there?"

Louis gives him a flat look. "Well, either because it's fucking cold out here or because I'm about to kidnap you and sell you for ransom. Seeing as I doubt you're worth very much yet, I recommend you take your chances and just get in already?"

Zayn regards at him for a moment but then follows Niall inside.

"This is _really_ against the rules," Liam says, but he starts to climb in after Zayn, anyways.

"Ah, but what's a little breaking and entering between contestants and their flagrantly abusive reality show masters?" Louis asks lightly. He stops Harry from following them inside with a touch on his shoulder, and instead slams the van door shut behind them.

Harry can hear cries of indignation and pounding on the door and as Louis leads him away.

"Where are you going?" Liam calls out at them once they get the door open.

"Calm down, lads, just give the adults a minute to talk," Louis yells back. Liam looks at Harry to get his nod, and then slowly closes the door behind him. Louis reaches behind Harry's back to lead him without quite touching him.

"Alright, love, let's 'ave a proper chat," Louis says, once they're a bit away from the van in the Fountain Studios back lot. He doesn't have his coat on — none of them had time to grab theirs when Louis had spirited them away between interviews. He's got his arms crossed around himself in his hoodie. "A quick one. Fucking 2010. Was it really this fucking cold?"

Harry gives him a small smile and says, "Seems it was."

Louis heaves a big sigh. Harry reaches out and brushes some snowflakes off the shoulder of his hoodie before realizing what he's doing.

"Sorry," he mutters, quickly pulling his hand back.

Louis tilts his head, looking at him, looking a bit puzzled. But what he says is, "Why didn't you ever come out of the closet, Harry?"

"Why didn't I come out?" Harry repeats.

"Figured you would as soon as I was no longer holding you back," Louis says softly.

"Holding me — what? No, Lou, _no_ ," Harry says, shaking his head fiercely.

A few weeks ago he would have been surprised, shocked, that Louis would think that. But after everything these past few weeks...

"No," Harry says again.

Louis sighs, breath frosting in the cold air. "Why didn't you ever proper come out, then?"

"I—" Harry hesitates. After his conversation with Gemma the other week, he knows doesn't really have a good single answer to that. 

"Liam didn't forget to tell you I still wanted you to, did he?"

"He did," Harry says. He looks down at his feet. "He passed that on a few times, yeah. You, um. You could've told me yourself, you know. If you'd wanted to." He glances up at him.

"Didn't think you'd really want to hear from me," Louis mutters, not meeting his eyes.

"My god, Louis, that could never be true. Did you really think that?" Harry says, feeling his heart breaking.

Louis doesn't push the topic, just repeats his question, "Well, why didn't you come out then?"

Harry takes a minute, watches a snowflake land on his hand, watches as it slowly melts against his skin.

"I don't know," he says finally. "Lots of reasons. No reasons. I mean, I know I should say I wanted to for myself, or to be a role model, or whatever. But." He looks up at Louis, who is watching him intently. "It was all so complicated, like, such a mess and, I don't know, it just didn't seem worth sorting through all that. I mean, what was the point if you weren't there with me?"

"Jesus, Harry," Louis says. He scrubs a hand over his face. "Darling. If this shit's real—" He glances up at the snowing sky. "If this is really fucking 2010, then..."

"Then what?"

He finally looks back at Harry again, something fragile behind his light blue eyes.

"Is this a chance to get it right?"

Harry shakes his head, feeling like his heart is breaking in even more pieces.

"Lou, we might be too late," Harry says. "I thought Liam told you. We're already — everything's already started, Lou. Syco, Modest, everything. And we're under the same sorts of image clauses we were last time. It's too late to change any of that."

"Haz, look," Louis says with another sigh. "Don't know about me little self's choice in hairstyle —"

"The hair wasn't really your choice," Harry can't help but put in.

"— but he might not be the idiot you think he was, Haz," Louis says. "There's a difference between too late and _almost_ too late, you know."

 

 

"Now." Louis claps his hands together. "We've only got a couple of hours before the show tonight, so we need to decide what we're doing."

Liam says cautiously, "I suppose we do need to talk about a few things."

"No," Louis says. "Not a few things. One thing."

Louis is perched between the front seats, facing them. Harry's in the middle row and the other three boys are crammed into the back.

"Tonight's the results show, yeah? Going to be live on-air, aren't we, then?" Louis asks.

"Yes?" Liam says.

"So if two young lads happened to let it slip in front of the cameras that they weren't straight, there wouldn't be a whole lot a certain Mr Cowell could do about it, could he?" Louis says.

"I mean, yeah," Harry says hesitantly. "We'd talked about doing it next weekend like that. But that was before we learned it would already be against our contracts."

"Can't go against their public image for us," Louis says.

"Right."

"And what's that image, then?"

"That we're not gay?" Harry says.

"And how do you know that?"

Harry narrows his eyes at him.

"Look, love, I'm not trying to be difficult 'ere, just work with me, yeah?" Louis says. "Might know a thing or two about that contract."

"But we already went over it with a lawyer," Liam reminds him.

"And I've been over those clauses in much stricter contracts than this one with some of the best — or at least most expensive — lawyers on both sides of the pond," Louis says.

"You have?" Niall asks.

"You really doubt me?" Louis asks. He looks around at them. "Can you honestly think this is the first time I've tried to fix this mess we're in? I'm a fucking veteran of this war, lads."

Harry wonders how it's possible to have both pride and heartbreak swell in your chest at the same time. Thinking of the boy who was here yesterday, and the twenty-six-year-old man who is here today.

"Now, is anyone going to answer the question?"

"How do we know that they want our image to be straight?" Harry says.

"Yeah," Louis says. "How in this moment in time, without any knowledge of the future, do we know that?"

"Well, they've been planting articles in the papers about both of us with girls," Harry says.

"How do you know they planted them?"

"After all these years, are you seriously asking me that?" Harry asks.

"We don't know," Liam cuts in.

"Exactly," Louis says. "We don't. I mean. Why would we even suspect that they were planted? They're newspapers, for the lack of a more appropriate epithet. Why would our young, naive selves suspect they're reporting anything except unbiased news? Yeah, they've got it wrong, but that just means they made a mistake."

"Relationships in The X Factor house are against the rules anyways," Zayn says lazily. "So all those articles about Harry and Cher, and Liam and Cher and me and Cher..."

"Right," Liam says. "As far as we know Simon probably hates that they're publishing stuff that makes it sound like his contestants are breaking the rules. At least, that's what I used to think before Harry explained it."

"All right, so, lads, back to the question, how do we know that Simon wants us to be straight?" Louis asks.

"They did all those skits with Harry being the flirt," Niall contributes.

"Ah, but that's just acknowledging the fact that Harry just tends to be flirty in general, innit?" Louis says, glancing at Harry.

"Right, but—" Liam starts.

"So it's just having a laugh about a personality quirk, yeah? There's no reason we would ever think of that as an intentional attempt to brand the future front-man of Simon's boyband," Louis says.

"Just having a laugh," Liam repeats. "Like about Wagner's tiger."

"Wagner's tiger?" Louis repeats. He shifts in his position perched between the front seats. "If Wagner is anything like how I recall him, I don't think I want to remember what that was about." He glances around at the others. "Now, I'm asking again, how do we know that Simon wants us to be straight?"

"Naveen told us they want girls to think we can be their boyfriends," Harry says.

"Naveen's was working with us already?" Louis asks. "Forgot about that."

"When was this?" Zayn asks.

"Wasn't it that morning after the others found out you were from the future, Harry?" Liam asks. "Because he was lecturing you on tweeting something that didn't make any sense."

"Ripped jeans, skin was showing. Hot night, wind was blowing," Harry tells Louis.

"Ah, classic," Louis says with a nod. "Shame about it not coming out til 2012."

"Really, 2012? That much later?"

"Love, it was released two weeks after What Makes You Beautiful dropped in the States," Louis says with a laugh. "We were already fighting for airplay. It was a big problem. Do you not remember that?"

Harry does vaguely recall that, now that Louis mentions it. It makes him think, "When does Born This Way come out?"

"It's not out already?" Louis says. Harry shakes his head. "But wasn't it on that playlist we made for—"

"For our first day in our new flat, exactly," Harry says, waving his hand in the air. "But you'd never heard of it."

"And I definitely would've known it."

"You definitely would've," Harry says. "Everyone would've."

"Yeah, well, Harry was in trouble for that," Liam interrupts, bringing them back to the topic. "So Naveen said he should look to Louis for a good example on using Twitter—"

Louis laughs. "Fucking _Naveen_ said that?"

Harry glances at the other boys, vindicated that it was indeed funny and _not_ mean that he'd laughed at the time.

"Sorry, lad, go on."

"And he said that you were going to let everyone know you broke up with your girlfriend so that girls would think they have a chance with you."

Louis ponders him thoughtfully. "And he said that just about me, not Harry, yeah?"

"Said that about all of us," Zayn says.

"It wasn't as obvious as that, though, was it?" Liam says. "I remember he said it for Louis because Louis was all creeped out about how young they were."

"Yeah," Niall says.

"And then he said it was more— what was the word?"

"Hypothetical?" Harry offers. "Symbolic?"

"Yeah, like the other day," Zayn says. "When you said that about fans not wanting to literally be our boyfriend, just liking the idea of us."

"Most fans," Liam says, seemingly unconsciously reaching for his bum. "Had one at the signing yesterday that tried to get a grope in."

Niall laughs.

"Alright, then, we'll give half credit to that answer," Louis says.

"Half?" Harry repeats.

"Well, seeing as I'm bisexual, technically those girls would have a chance. For the rest of you — and that would include Harry — you could say they meant it like a selling point but not a demand," Louis says.

"But, Lou," Harry interrupts. Louis turns his blue eyes to him. "Simon turning off your mic. The media training they've been trying to get you to do. They'd got through pretty clear to the you of this time that they didn't want anyone thinking you were gay."

Harry knows eighteen-year-old Louis would get bristly at that reminder, but this Louis just gives Harry a soft, regretful look.

"Yeah, love, I remember quite well," he says.

"Then—"

"Simon might be a proper arsehole but, at the end of the day, he does actually give a shit about his reputation," Louis says. "Do you honestly think he's going to put out in public record that he told a young lad that nobody wants to hear his voice because his wrists were too limp? And, worse, that he screwed with X Factor sound to ensure that wouldn't happen?"

Harry stares at him sadly. He thinks about the Louis he'd known last night, who was thanking him for making him not be alone. And the Louis in front of him here today, who had been alone with this for so long.

Harry starts to reach out for him, to tell him how sorry he is, but he's startled by the ringing of phone in his pocket. He pulls it out, frowns at the number he doesn't recognize and then pushes the button to send it to voicemail.

"You're not going to get that, love?" Louis asks.

"Probably a wrong number," Harry says, shoving the phone back in his pocket.

Louis turns to the rest of the boys who are watching quietly.

"Look," Louis says. "All we have here is one thing, and we could say we didn't realize how important it was to them."

"But we know how important it was," Liam says.

"That's the sticking point, though, innit, lads?" Louis says. "You knew how important it was to Simon because Harry told you. But Harry didn't know right now, I guarantee you that."

"Maybe he knew," Zayn says. He looks at Harry. "You must've known something?"

Louis looks away and then back at the group of them, a bit sadly. "Lads, do you think I wouldn't recall the exact moment Harry realized they didn't want him for who he was but rather for who they could make him out to be?" He looks at Harry and shakes his head. "That moment wasn't yet, but it was really, really soon."

Harry's phone rings again.

"Sorry," Harry mutters. He pulls out his phone, meaning to silence the unsaved number again, but, at the last second, reconsiders.

 

 

And that is how they find themselves shortly thereafter, crowded once again into the van but now with the addition of one Nick Grimshaw complaining about the lack of legroom.

"Who are you?" Niall asks curiously as Liam punches in a reply to the increasingly concerned texts from the X Factor PAs over them being late to their interview.

"It's just bloody Nick Grimshaw," Louis says with a sigh. "Ignore him."

" _Just bloody Nick Grimshaw_ , seriously?" Nick says indignantly. "You know, I didn't ask to spend my Sunday night off squeezed into a vanful of cheeky children. My legs don't even fit."

"You're not that tall," Louis snaps. "It's just your quiff taking up all the room."

"I can leave."

"Don't, Nick," Harry says, holding his arm.

"Is James Corden coming, too, then?" Niall asks. "Quite liked him. He was a laugh."

Nick twists around on his seat with concerned incredulity. "You want to try to squeeze Corden in here with us, too, now?"

Harry smiles a little at him.

"Aren't you the one who kicked Harry and Louis out last week?" Zayn demands.

"Kicked out is a strong word," Nick says. "I didn't even have to call for security."

"Why are you here, then?"

"Who the fuck ever knows why Nick Grimshaw is where he is," Louis mutters. Then his eyes narrow and he demands sharply, "What do you mean he kicked us out?"

"You took Harry to see Nick the other night to ask for advice and then he threw you out of his studio," Liam explains.

"So you're a wanker already in 2010, then." Louis crosses his arms over his chest. "Good to know that wasn't a later development."

The look Nick shoots Louis is a combination of irritation and confusion. "Unless you've got a doppelganger, you were there. Why don't you remember that?"

"Louis is from the future," Niall says helpfully. "Just like Harry."

"Except he just came from the future today," Harry explains. "So he doesn't remember you from last week."

"You know," Nick muses, looking around the van they're crammed into. "I've never actually done acid, but this is exactly how I always imagined a bad trip would go."

"Curly Wurly?" Niall asks, holding the chocolate bar out in offering from the backseat.

Nick heaves a world-weary sigh. "Might as well."

"So, um, not that we're not happy to see you. But what _are_ you doing here, Nick?" Harry asks.

"Well, as I explained on the phone last night—" Nick says. "—and, as it seems, you were too drunk to have the courtesy of remembering, I happened to be watching a rather heartfelt Rihanna knockoff on telly when it occurred to me that I may have been a bit hasty last week."

 

 

"So, how's it going to go?" Nick asks after they explain what they've been talking about. "Big celebratory kiss, flash a bit of tongue, then you realize, oops, the cameras are live. Oh, well."

Harry glances at Louis, feeling his own cheeks flush. That _was_ pretty much how he'd pictured it. The times he'd pictured it. Something big and dramatic, maybe some pyrotechnics involving rainbows, and then they're engulfed by the cheers of the crowd—

Louis is giving him a thoughtful look.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Nick says. "That's not actually what you were planning, was it?"

Niall laughs.

"We haven't _made_ a plan yet, mate," Louis says.

"You might want to think about making one then," Nick says. "Because your legal argument is dodgy enough—"

"It is not," Louis snaps.

Nick raises his eyebrows. "Well, even if your not-dodgy-at-all legal argument holds up, Simon's more than capable of keeping you from working in this industry for quite a while. Whether that's because he's got the power of law behind him or just the power of being fucking Simon Cowell, same result."

Harry nods, biting his lip. "So how do we do it, then?"

"We back him into a corner," Louis says.

Nick says, "You back him into a corner _and_ you let him save face whilst you do it."

 

 

"Now, it's time for the results. We will find out which acts are through to the final next week and which ones need to fight for their spot," Dermot says. "Here's how it's going to work. I'll announce the three acts that are safe on public vote, and then the bottom two will rely on the judges..."

As he talks, Harry glances around at the boys, and Simon standing in the middle of all of them with a smug smile on his face. Niall, Liam and Zayn all have their eyes trained on Dermot as he draws out the drama of the results as long as possible.

Louis is — well, in the body of the same Louis that has been standing on this stage for the past two months. Clad in slightly better fitting clothes, but that's more Carole's doing than his own.

But the way he's standing there — He's next to Simon but the foot or two between them might as well be the width of the arena. His back is straight, feet apart, arms clasped behind his back, a cocky tilt to his head. Nothing coy or flirty in his posture, no nervous smile tugging at his lips.

Harry thinks he probably has no idea how completely different he looks compared to the boy who sang on this stage the night before.

Louis has been focused somewhere over the crowd, but maybe he senses Harry's eyes on him. He gives Harry a hint of a smile, raise of eyebrows, before glancing over at Dermot.

"The first act through to the _final_ next week is..." Dermot pauses and then says, "Rebecca!"

Across the stage, she screams and then sobs in Cheryl's embrace.

And Cheryl — well, Harry isn't entirely sure when exactly Louis is from, if it's from the same exact time Harry is or off by weeks or a few months. But when she'd come up to wish them luck as their substitute mentor this week, the way Louis had alternated between glares at her and protective looks at Liam, Harry suspects it isn't that far off from when Harry had traveled back in time.

"The second act through to the final is... Matt Cardle!"

Dannii gives him a tight hug on the other side of the stage.

Harry sees the other boys looking nervous. He himself would've been a sick bundle of nerves eight years ago. But with everything else going on, with having their own stylist and vocal coach come on board, with not knowing if being chained to the Syco and Modest are even a good thing — and, well, they may be chained whether they make it to the final or not, as their lawyer had informed them when they'd suggested sabotaging themselves — it doesn't make quite as much sense why they're still nervous.

"Now, there are two acts saved," Dermot says. "Only one more act will be through to the final by public vote." 

There's a long dramatic pause. Harry meets Louis' eyes very briefly. Years of watching Louis on camera has taught Harry that the tiny twitch of muscle at the corners of his eyes means he's holding back an eyeroll.

"And that act is..." Dermot says. "One Direction!"

Next to Harry, Niall cries out, pumps his fist and then envelopes him in a hug. Harry hugs him back. He looks around at the others and even Zayn is grinning in relief as Liam hugs his arm around him.

He catches Louis initiating the group hug and he looks like he's saying something. Whatever it is makes Simon laugh as the other boys pile on into a group hug.

 

 

They're in one of the dressing rooms back-stage. There's a small TV in the corner playing a muted version of the remainder of the results show. On the table, there's a laptop that Louis has somehow obtained from the PA's. Harry isn't entirely sure whether it was through charm or deceit or straight robbery and he's not certain he wants to know.

On the TV, the judges are assembled at their desk and Dermot looks like he's introducing Mary and Cher to the crowd again. The boys don't have to be back on-stage until the results show is over and Konnie interviews them for the Xtra Factor.

To distract Harry from anxious thoughts about what's going to happen then, Harry turns to where Louis has the ITV website up on the laptop.

"So which show was it that Harry first came back for, lads?" he asks, scrolling through the X Factor clips. Liam opens his mouth to answer but Louis immediately holds up his hand. "No, don't tell me. I'll figure it out."

Harry scoots his chair a little closer so he can see well. Liam moves to stand behind him, resting his hands on the back of his chair. Niall is bouncing next to him.

Zayn is sitting at an aloof angle, chair moved a cautious distance from Louis after a day of being on the receiving end of his narrow-eyed looks.

Louis starts with their rendition of 'Torn' at Judges' Houses and immediately pauses it on a frame of all five of them in it. "Look at us, lads. Look at that _hair_. We were so fucking young."

"That was, like, what?" Niall looks around at them. "Three months ago?"

"Little over three months," Liam says.

"Well, you lot look a lot older than that already. Haven't seen these in so long," Louis says. He presses play and pauses to watch. As they go through a shaky-nervous rendition of Torn, there's a zoom-in on Louis' face as he's singing, though Harry can't make out his voice at all on the sound.

Louis must be thinking the same thing, because he says, "Me mic was actually faulty that day, you know. Wasn't supposed to be off. But when Simon heard the audio after, instead of having us re-record it, it gave him an idea."

"That's so fucking—" Zayn starts.

"Screwed up," Niall says.

Louis shrugs. "It's Simon Cowell. And, look—" He points to the screen. "Our Hazza has certainly not been switched out for this older one yet." He gives the Harry on-screen a fond look. "Haven't seen you that nervous in so many years, love."

He clicks back to the main screen of clips and opens the one from the first live show.

Louis mutters a compliment to Liam's opening verse of Viva La Vida and then the camera pans out for the first time. Louis says immediately, "Not this one."

A few seconds later, Harry is starting into what must have been some semi-improv fist-punching choreography and Harry himself bursts out laughing as Louis says, "Definitely, definitely not this one."

"What? Why?" Liam asks as Louis clicks back and pulls up the next video.

"I am a much better dancer in the future," Harry says primly. Or, rather, tries to say primly, but it's hard when he's having to stop himself from laughing.

"He was a much..." Louis gives him a look. " _Different_ dancer in the future." Making Harry smile back at him. "Alright, here we go. Week Two."

They're a little way into My Life Would Suck Without You. Louis nods along to Liam's intro verses and says, "Nice, Payno." He tilts his head thoughtfully watching the chorus and then shakes his head. "Not this one. That's our little 2010 Harry there."

"How can you tell?" Zayn asks.

"If you can pick out Harry that well in the chorus — and this is taking into account, mind you, that my voice isn't adding much of anything to the mix here at all, I mean, look —" He points at himself on-stage. "— There's a lad who knows no one can hear him but he's singing his heart out anyway. Little fucker. — Anyways, Harry is loud on these choruses but his mic is obviously up as loud as mine was soft. This is not the look of a Harry Styles who knows he's leading the chorus."

He clicks back and then to week three. He gives a distracted word or two for Liam's intro verses and then it's just Liam with Zayn on some ad libs at the ends of the lines, but when the camera pans out, Louis pauses. Frowns at it. Then unpauses again. When it gets to the chorus and there are some zoomed in clips of Harry singing. Harry's voice, distorted a bit with auto-tune, again leading some of the lines of the chorus.

Louis listens through the rest of the clip eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"So?" Liam says at the end. 

Harry catches Niall giving him a smirk.

"Undetermined," Louis says. 

"Undetermined? Is that allowed?" Zayn asks.

"Yes, it's allowed," Louis snaps. He looks back at the laptop screen. "Now, that doesn't sound quite like our sixteen-year-old Harry but it's so over-produced it doesn't sound much like Harry Styles at any age, I reckon." He glances at Harry. "There's just something about the way he's stood there on-stage, though — Alright. Next one."

Harry catches Liam glance away to the TV screen in the corner of the room, Harry follows his eyes there. It looks like the judges are still talking to Mary and Cher, debating their respective merits.

Louis pulls up Total Eclipse of the Heart. As the camera zooms in from afar and then close enough for all five of them to fill the view.

He blinks at the monitor. "Jesus, why do I look so scared? I look like I'm going to shit myself, lads."

Harry glances around at the others, who all look like they're trying to keep themselves from saying anything.

"Alright, nice intro again, Liam, Zayn's got some good — why is Harry singing into Liam and Niall's mics instead of his own?" He hesitates and leans forwards. Then it gets to the chorus and on-screen Louis comes in. Harry sees real-life Louis' mouth drop open.

The Louis that sang that night was brilliant at the time. Though hearing it now, Harry can hear how much stronger he became in just the few weeks since then.

"So," Louis says after the song ends and he stops it. "Seems something was afoot with the microphones that week."

"No idea what could've happened there," Harry attempts to deadpan but it's hard not to smile at the look of astonishment on Louis' face.

"No idea, right?" Louis repeats, shaking his head. "Did you switch the mics, then? No wonder I looked so scared. I knew he'd done it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you knew because right before we walked on," Niall says. "He stole your mic from you."

"You were really angry after," Liam says.

Louis' eyes pass over them. "I can only imagine. So, the week before—?"

Harry nods again. "My second day here. Was in a bit of a shock and my voice wasn't quite behaving."

"Right," Louis says. He shakes his head again at the boys on-screen all hugging on-stage and then clicks back. As he opens the next week, he mutters, "So fucking strange hearing my voice on this stage."

As Kids in America opens, Louis gives Harry a surprised look. "You gave me the opening?"

"Actually, Sandeep did at the last minute," Harry says. "I'd kept Liam on it."

They watch it play through, to the second rendition of the chorus where Louis is leading.

Louis gives him a strange look. "Did you say _Sandeep_ gave _me_ a solo?"

Harry nods.

"Of his own free will?"

"I think so?" Harry says. He's still not entirely sure. But Robert had told Sandeep to downplay him and he'd given Louis the solo instead. "You were getting a lot of attention after the week before."

"Really?" Louis looks a bit stunned.

"Why're you so surprised about Sandeep?" Liam asks curiously.

Louis shakes his head. "Just a couple of years' worth of differences in opinions." He clicks back in the browser. "Suppose we're still all getting along now?"

"Yeah," Harry says.

Louis shrugs and presses play on week six.

"Something About the Way You Look Tonight," Louis says quietly. "This was your first big week, H. Was well chuffed for you."

When the song starts Louis' attention is riveted, he presses his chin onto his hand and watches closely, a small fond smile growing on his face. There's a Louis on-stage with his first performance with the new haircut.

"Jesus, lad, I remember you were brilliant eight years ago. But this was —" He glances at Harry. "You sang this like the rockstar you are."

Harry can't help the little flush of warmth at the praise.

Louis pulls up the next one, week seven. He frowns at what he's probably realizing is the Beatles song they'd swapped All You Need is Love out for.

He watches the whole thing, looking fascinated. "Lads, this is amazing. You're all —" He looks around at them. "Quite brilliant. That is a lot harder on a technical level than anything we did last time."

"You and Liam did the arrangement on that one," Harry tells him. "Was a bit too challenging for us, probably. But I've never really been good at holding you back when you have your mind set on something."

Louis looks at him.

"Should've seen Sandeep's face when he showed up and we told him we needed changes made to the backing track," Niall says. 

"We worked real hard that week," Liam says. "Harry spent some crazy hours with each of us. Worked out, though, I reckon."

"You know it fucking worked," Louis says. "You boys smashed this one."

Harry smiles a little at seeing the other boys' pleasure at the praise.

Louis pulls up the week eight clips. For Summer of 69, he gives them a small smile and a "nice" and a few words for Liam and Niall.

Then as he clicks on I Don't Want to Miss a Thing, he smiles knowingly at Harry. "This is a perfect choice, going to be brilliant with your voice, love."

But then the song opens and it's not Harry singing, it's Louis. And Louis' mouth opens.

"What the hell—?" he demands after the first two verses. He clicks back and starts it over again, watching closely as he slowly shakes his head.

After they get to the end, he glances around at all of them, looking stunned. "Jesus, do you have any idea—" He stops the video as the judges start talking. "This isn't normal, you realize this, right, lads?"

"What's not normal?" Liam says.

"Acts don't improve like this in just a few weeks," he says. "You boys are going to win this. There's absolutely no question."

"Er, thanks," Liam tries. "Harry said you got third last time?"

"Yeah, if it had been based on popular vote, we would've won, but there's no doubt this time. It can't happen any other way."

As Louis clicks back to choose last night's Only Girl in the World.

"Wait, what do you mean, _if_ it had been based on popular vote?" Liam demands.

But the music is already playing. Louis watches intently and then praises each of them again. Then he clicks on Tattoo.

"Tattoo?" he asks as the page loads.

"Jordin Sparks," Harry says. 

"Interesting choice," Louis says. It's about to start when one of the production assistants bursts into the room. Harry glances over at the TV in the corner. On it, Dermot is wrapping up the Results Show. So it must be time soon to go on for Xtra Factor soon. Which means it's almost time for—

"Boys, who needs hair?" she asks. Then frowns at them. "Okay, Liam and Zayn, with me for a touch-up of your hair. And, Niall, were you eating? All right, come to make-up with us then."

"See you backstage, I suppose?" Liam says as they walk out the door.

And then Louis and Harry are left alone.

"Shall I?" Louis looks at the computer.

Harry nods. As the view pans in on the stage with the five of them there, Louis positioned at the mic stand in the middle, Harry feels a sting in his eyes. This is eighteen-year-old Louis' last-ever song.

Suddenly, the video stops before they even start singing. Harry finds Louis looking at him.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"M'fine," Harry says. "Just play it."

Louis gives him a skeptical look, but apparently decides to go with it and restarts the clip.

Louis on-screen starts the song. It's not the first opening solo he's had since they've been listening here tonight, but there's definitely something more confident in it. It has a bit of the delicacy of his I Don't Want to Miss a Thing, but with more push behind it. 

Zayn does the second verse. Then there's the chorus, with Louis leading it. Harry can only guess that his mind is on the bridge coming up in a few lines, because he makes it look effortless in the way that he only really manages when he's not paying too much attention.

And then Louis starts the bridge. And he's _loud_. He's so fucking loud. 

It occurs to Harry that he went on to sing this right after he talked to The Traveler — to Poppy. He knew this was the last time he'd have to sing before he lost all memory of these few weeks.

Harry looks at Louis beside him, who is staring at the screen, hand over his open mouth, eyes wide. It's still this Louis who sang it. These lips, that same mouth. But he'll never remember it.

"You did this for me. I didn't even know I could've — Hazza, you made me into a fucking _star_ ," Louis says, still staring awestruck at the monitor after he stops the video. Harry watches him look down at his arms and push up his sleeve to his forearm where the words 'please be loud' are still written.

"And you gave it all up because you wanted to hold my hand in the sunshine," Harry's voice cracks.

Louis finally turns to him. "Oh, darling, no." He pulls Harry's hand away from his eyes, wipes his tears away like he's done a hundred times for him before. "No, Hazza. Even if that's what happened, can't say it wouldn't have been a fair trade. But, no, I don't think —" He stands, tugging Harry up with him. "Come on, let's get you into make-up again, fix your eyes before we go on." Harry lets Louis tug him by the elbow down the hallway. "— there might not be any tragedy 'ere. Quite possibly the opposite."

"What's the opposite of tragedy?" Harry asks, sniffling.

"Come on," Louis says. They're at the door to makeup, where Niall is getting his stage-foundation touched up and Rebecca's getting her lipstick reapplied. One of the makeup assistants takes one look at Harry's teary eyes and briskly gets him into a chair.

 

 

"I'm just really grateful," Rebecca is saying into Konnie's microphone. "I just can't believe I've made it this far."

"Some applause for Rebecca!" Konnie gestures to the crowd and smiles as they cheer. And then she steps over to where Harry and the others are standing next to her.

"So, these five boys have made it to the Final, everyone," she says and the crowd gets not-so-subtly louder. She turns to Liam, "Now, just think, pretend you're politicians and you have to tell us, why should be people vote for you?"

"We're just really hard working," Liam says with a bit of a laugh. "We think we bring something really different—"

"We also want lower taxes," Niall says to the laughs of the crowd.

"I see that's very popular," she says. "Now, could you be the first group to win this competition?"

"Honestly, we can't believe we made it through to the final," Liam says.

Louis glances quickly over at Harry. His eyes are blue, sparkling in the lights of the stage under the coy slant of hair across his forehead. He raises his eyebrows in subtle question and Harry gives him a small nod, heart pounding.

Liam is finishing with, "We just want to say a massive thank you to all our fans."

"Yeah." Louis steps in front of Konnie's mic. Harry holds his breath. "And we want to thank everyone for your support. We know a boyband where two of the five members are gay is something that hasn't been done before. At least that you know of." He winks. "So thanks to Simon for taking a chance on us."

There's a falter in Konnie's wide eyes and Louis quickly takes a half-step to the side, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him in front of the mic before Konnie can take it away.

Harry looks out over the crowd in the X Factor auditorium, where they're silent for the first time tonight. He leans forwards and says into the microphone, "To all our fans, we love all of you." 

He feels Louis squeeze his arm around his shoulders and he clears his throat.

"We love each and every one of you, no matter who you love," he starts again, voice thick. "And we thank you—" He blinks at the tears threatening at his eyes again. "We thank you for loving us, no matter who we love."

 

 

_You're the best person I've met. I love you, I adore you, and, next time I see you, darling, gonna hold your hand in the fucking sunshine._

_Love, Louis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (harry is crying because *I'm* crying, and I figure if I'm crying then Harry is *definitely* crying too)


	21. PART FOUR - Chapter 21

PART FOUR

 _So don't let me go_  
_Baby don't you know_  
_We can live forever_  
\- "History" (One Direction, 2015)

"You're trending on twitter."

"Oh," Harry says. He adds a bit of Rebecca's hairspray to his hair and twists a curl around his fingers.

"Have you not even checked?" Gemma asks with a laugh through the speakerphone on his phone. Harry glances down to where it's sitting on the vanity top and gives a weak laugh.

"I've had eight years to learn not to," he informs her. When he looks up again, his green-eyed reflection stares back at him in the mirror.

"It's not bad," Gemma says. "Not at all. I mean, at worst, there's some confusion and, you know, there's always going to be _some_ people who say ugly things. But — Harry, you're out of the closet."

"I'm out," Harry echoes. He throws his head forwards, shaking out his hair, and squints at his reflection again. He has a new spot on his forehead, but it's not like he has any proper ointment for it.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he says. "I thought it would feel different. But it barely even feels real."

"I reckon it's not as big a deal as it would have been for you in the future," she concedes. "It's not like you're the first X Factor contestants to come out during the show."

"Yeah," Harry says. "Louis is back, though."

"I know."

" _Louis_ ," he emphasizes. " _My_ Louis."

"I know."

"And he's also not _my_ Louis at all," Harry says. "Like, about the furthest thing from it. And everything I tried to do to keep him from the pain of the last eight years. It's all undone. And now he has to relive them—"

"Which is what you're doing," she interrupts.

"But he didn't have a choice. Do you really think he would have wanted to be eighteen again?" Harry insists. "And now he's out, too, and what if he didn't want to be?"

"Haz, he's the one who did it," Gemma says quietly.

"What if he didn't believe it was real yet?" Harry asks. "It might not have sunk in."

"Have you talked to him?"

Harry turns away from his reflection with a sigh. He'd prefer not to confess he hasn't talked to him since last night and that he's now spent quite a while this morning hiding. After the show, Louis had a phonecall from his mother and they'd both forgot that she hadn't known he liked boys. Let alone that his stepfather hadn't known. Or any of his sisters. 

He'd talked with them all late into the night and when he'd come back to their room, he'd claimed his own bottom bunk without saying a word to Harry.

To be fair, it had been past dark and Harry hadn't given any indication that he was awake. But. Still.

He picks up the phone and takes Gemma off speakerphone. He needs to face the world again at some point.

"I don't know what to say to him," Harry says quietly as he leaves the bathroom. "Like, hello, good morning, welcome back to 2010?"

She's still laughing when he hears voices from inside their dorm room.

He bites his lip as he pushes the door open.

 

 

Konnie hadn't said anything else about it after the Xtra Factor interview, not that he'd expected her to. Just congratulated them on making it to the final and moved on to talk to Matt.

There'd been some moments of confusion backstage, a few double-takes from production assistants who probably weren't sure whether they were supposed to have known they were gay.

In the backstage bar, Nick had bought Harry a beer, clapped him on the shoulder, and told him he expected to be remembered as the one who suggested the classic "I was never in the closet, I've always been open about my sexuality, just no one's ever asked me before" gay power move.

Harry isn't a great liar but he's quite skilled at avoiding directly answering questions. Louis, however, _is_ a good liar. Also, Liam has an excellent poker face, Niall can deflect like nobody's business, and all Zayn has to do is raise a derisive eyebrow and make anyone feel too stupid to pursue their line of questioning.

Between them, Harry thinks they may have actually pulled it off.

Matt had given Harry a tight hug and Cher had just rolled her eyes at Harry and told him, "You could've just _said_."

Which, well, _fair_. Last time around it might've avoided a few awkward situations with her.

Rebecca had given Louis a long hug, her arms tight around his shoulders, and then blinked back tears and asked them more than once if Simon _really_ was supportive?

If Louis had been taken aback, Harry wasn't sure whether it was more from her reaction to that or to the fact that she was coming near him at all, when the last time he would've seen her in the future would've been after she'd refused to believe that it wasn't him but their reps who'd insulted her work ethic on twitter after she'd split with Modest.

They hadn't seen Mary until they were back at the house and she'd been too busy tearfully packing her things to say more than "adorable couple, you two". Harry hadn't known whether to correct her or not and had mostly been glad that Louis was already off talking to his family on the phone by then.

The cast of Glee who had performed that night and they'd toasted them more a few giggly cheers. Lea Michele had even skyped Chris Colfer, who had excitedly declared that he'd been waiting his whole life for a hot gay boybander and was ready to swoon now there were two at once.

They'd left the night all promising to vote for them on the final next week and Harry hadn't had the heart to tell them it would only count coming from a UK phone.

 

 

Louis is sprawled over Liam's bed. Harry's computer is resting in his lap, his knees leaning against Liam's back, sleeves of his hoodie tucked down over his hands where he's holding a cup of tea between them. The early morning sun coming in the dorm window highlights the edge of his cheekbones. The fringe peeking out from under his beanie slants over his forehead and there's a hint of scruff over his jawline.

He's beautiful and soft and, for a moment, he could be so many different versions of himself. He could be the Louis he was just two days ago, before his new memories. He could be Louis from a year from now, two, three.

"I'm proud of you," he hears from the phone at his ear.

"Thanks, Gems," he says. "I, um, I've got to go."

At his words, Louis — and the other boys — all look up at him. And the spell is broken. The Louis that turns sharp blue eyes to Harry, who has a careful set to his jaw, who has a focused intensity coiled within him, isn't anywhere near eighteen years old.

He's the Louis who knew the lyrics to songs that wouldn't be written for five years. Who, if their band hadn't broken up, would've probably known lyrics to songs from eight years from now.

"Hi, good morning," Harry says awkwardly, unable to take his eyes off him. "Um, welcome to 2010?"

Louis' lips twitch. "Why, thank you, Harry. Same to you."

Harry stands there for another awkward moment before Liam clears his throat and asks, "So, who of us are gay?"

"What?"

"Apparently you didn't specify," Zayn mumbles sleepily from where he's wrapped in the covers of his bottom bunk. 

Niall laughs and grabs for his phone from where he's sitting on the floor next to him, guitar slipping down his lap. He hands his phone to Harry.

Harry skims down the Telegraph article that's pulled up.

_We could talk about whether Mary deserved the boot the judges gave her this week or how voters forgave the way Matt's voice cracked from the rumored pharyngitis he'd been suffering. We could debate whether voters were right in deciding yet again that Rebecca's vocals make up for how static she still looks on-stage or bemoan how Cher's cockiness is getting more grating than ever._

_Or we could talk about the utter tragedy Britain's young female population is facing at this time, having just learned that two of the five members of Simon Cowell's new boyband — whose performances on Saturday have solidified them as bookies' favorite to win this year — are unlikely to ever marry and live happily ever after with them._

_We'll allow reluctant praise for one Simon Cowell for his modern attitudes, especially in the light of fellow judge Louis Walsh's recent remarks about not having selected Gately or Feehily for his boybands if he'd been aware of their sexualities._

_We'll leave the speculation on exactly which two boys happen to be unavailable for their female fans for the gossip rags._

"Oh," Harry says. That was not quite the complication he'd been anticipating this morning. "They really don't think it's us, then?"

"Well, Louis was the one who said it," Liam says, soft hair flopping over his eyes. "People are saying it would have been in a bit poor taste for him to say it if it wasn't him."

"Plus, look at me, lads," Louis says, gesturing at himself with the hand not holding his tea. "It's not exactly a stretch."

Harry bites his lip.

"But you're the one who had a girlfriend," Niall points out.

"Lots of gay boys have had girlfriends at some point," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "And if paying a girl to star in family photos with me for the better part of — How long would you say it is now, Haz, all combined? Five years? — didn't do it, doubt a teenage romance would."

"Do you, um," Harry says. "Do you regret it, then?"

Louis' eyes widen. "No, no, Haz. Just being a smartarse here. Of course I don't."

"Okay," Harry says. "Good. And, um, for the record, if you had kept better track of exactly how long you'd been dating, it might've been more convincing."

"You mean to say, not knowing whether you've just met a few weeks ago or been dating for a year isn't a normal thing to be confused about?" Louis asks, a bit of sparkle back in his eyes.

"Probably not," Harry says. He glances at Liam again, a twist of disappointment in his chest. "But people don't think it's me, though?"

"Well, you were the other one to talk, so a lot of people on the forums _are_ saying they think the other one's you, Harry," Liam says.

"Except you are the flirt," Zayn mumbles.

" _Was_ the flirt," Liam corrects.

"Some people think it's me, though, too," Niall pipes up. "Amelia tweeted that she'd always suspected."

"Amelia — she was your girlfriend before all this, wasn't she?" Louis asks. "That's in rather poor taste, that."

Niall shrugs as he pulls his guitar back into his lap. "I'm just a bit disappointed Liall's not the one trending on twitter right now."

"Liall?"

"Nouis," Harry corrects.

"Ah." Louis nods and takes a sip of his tea. "So does that mean that Larry is?"

"How did you know that's the one the fans finally settled on?" Liam twists around to ask him.

"Just a hunch, mate."

"I should tweet something," Harry says, looking at where he'd tossed his phone onto his bunk. But before he finishes the thought, they're interrupted by the notice that their car has arrived.

 

 

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, boys," Simon tells them from his white armchair. He aims a smug look at the camera. "I do believe you could be the first boyband to win this thing."

Harry glances at the large painting of Simon's own face on the wall, and then around at the others. Louis is slouched in the seat next to him on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, knee bumping into the side of his leg, eyes trained on Simon. Liam, Niall and Zayn are arranged around them. Sandeep's in the armchair next to Simon's and the camera crew is taping two different views of their meeting.

"I'm not saying you won't have to work hard, harder than ever before, but if you do, I think you have a real shot here."

Sandeep gives them an encouraging nod.

They've been here a while now and so far there's been a conspicuous lack of mention of anything they said the night before. Though that likely has more to do with the cameras in the room than Simon overlooking it.

They've gone over the announcement of their four songs for the week and they only had to stop and retape it once when Louis wasn't appropriately excited about having a duet with his idol Robbie Williams. 

Simon announced the home visits this week, the quick trip to Ireland tomorrow, then Liam and Louis' hometowns the next day and Harry and Zayn's the next.

He'd praised them for how well they performed last week despite the challenge of having himself as their mentor ill and Zayn gone to his grandfather's funeral — Zayn had tensed at this but didn't say anything — and now Simon's onto the pep talk portion of the morning.

"You will have to work hard, though, boys, if you want to win," Simon says, seemingly testing the words around for what will make the best sound clip.

"We will," Liam promises Simon.

After the cameras are gone, the smile drops from Simon's face.

"I thought," he says. "That you boys understood how I felt about surprises."

After a moment of silence, Sandeep defends them with, "But the boys didn't do anything we hadn't planned with their songs this week." Simon doesn't say anything. "We weren't sure about Harry's voice so we didn't give him all his parts back. After what happened with Matt's voice Saturday, don't you think it was the right call—?"

"I'm not talking about the songs," Simon says. He turns narrowed eyes to Louis. "This isn't the right time to be gay, boys."

Harry fists his hands at his sides.

"Wait," Sandeep starts, looking back and forth between Simon and the boys in confusion. "You mean you _didn't_ want them to come out? Then why did you say—" His eyes light on Louis. "You thanked Simon for his support."

"Well, Simon has been quite... supportive," Louis says. "Wouldn't you say?"

Simon's eyes narrow. "I was afraid something like this might happen. Sandeep suggested the more attention we gave on you, the less likely you'd be to do something like this. But it just wasn't enough for you, was it?"

Harry gapes at Sandeep.

"So that's why—" Liam blurts out, stopping himself mid-way through the sentence.

"I thought we had an understanding," Simon says, eyes on Louis.

"An understanding," Zayn repeats in a tense voice. 

"Did you? Must've been a miscommunication," Louis says with a casual shrug, shoulder brushing against Harry's. "I'm a bit of an idiot, in case it wasn't obvious."

"And _we_ didn't have any understanding," Harry says.

"Ah." Simon's eyes turn to him. "Our second gay member, I presume? You know, there are thousands of boys who would have been more than happy to take your place here. But you were given this opportunity and now you two decided to throw it away over a temper tantrum. Did you even think about what this would do to the other members of your band?"

"We supported them one hundred percent," Liam says. There's an apprehensiveness in his tone, probably at standing up to Simon for the first time, but his voice is steady. "We still support them. And this could be a good thing. I don't know if you saw the Telegraph article, but it was praising you for it."

"This isn't about _me_ ," Simon says.

"Is it not then?" Louis asks.

"Obviously I don't have a problem with gay contestants." Simon crosses his arms over his chest. "I put more than one through this year. And I was fully supportive of Joe McElderry last year, as well as Adam Lambert when he came out."

"Then there must be no problem here, then," Louis says, eyes steady on Simon.

"There is if you want to succeed. Where is Joe today? And I don't know if you're paying attention to the States, but Adam is still on the talk show circuit apologizing after he had the gall to remind people he was gay."

"Reckon people cared more about McElderry being a mediocre singer than about him being gay," Louis says lazily. "And wouldn't you say for Lambert that may have had more to do with him reminding the puritans across the pond that he prefers his sex gay and with a side of bondage?"

"Louis—" Sandeep starts conciliatorily.

"Trust me, I had some words with Adam after that performance," Simon cuts him off. "But even if they had found success, the fact remains that you boys are in a _boyband_ and it's only your careers I'm thinking about here. Success for you means not being a novelty gay act."

Harry catches more than one pair of eyes in the room turn to him. He can remember their shock at hearing those words from his mouth, but, as he'd told them back then, they hadn't been _his_ words to begin with.

"The good news is, it may not be too late to turn this around," Simon says. "Louis may not have ruined everything for the rest of you."

"Excuse me," Harry says, tense. "I was there, too."

"And he hasn't ruined anything," Liam says. "Like I just said, we all wanted them to come out."

"It's true," Niall backs him up.

"We're not the homophobic arseholes here," Zayn mutters.

Simon's eyes flick to him and then he looks back at Harry and Louis.

"If you want to make it in this industry, boys, you'll have to make sacrifices."

"Of course we want to make it—" Liam starts, looking over at Harry and Louis helplessly.

"Good," Simon says. "And if you abide by your contestant agreement to let us manage your images, we may be able to salvage this. But if you won't, we may have bigger problems. Are we all in agreement here?"

 

 

"Do you think he'll make you take it back?" Niall asks, leaning back against the second-floor recording booth wall as they wait to meet Sandeep there.

"Can he even?" Liam asks. "The way Louis said it was pretty clear last night."

"But they said that Harry tried to come out a few times in the future and it never stuck," Niall points out.

Harry glances at Louis, who is standing a little apart from him.

"I never said the words." He stuffs his hands in his hoodie. The chill in the building seems even colder without Louis wrapping his arms around him.

"But—"

"Not in a way that couldn't be taken for a joke," he clarifies.

"And what Louis said last night?"

"Doesn't 'ave a punchline, now, does it? At least, there's no joke on anyone but old Uncle Simon." Louis adjusts his beanie over his fringe and then tucks his arms across his chest. "It's fucking cold in 'ere, isn't it? You'd think his old arse would be rich enough t'spring for a bit of heating, wouldn't you?"

"Ah, there you boys are, then," Sandeep comes walking up to them in the corridor, Hilde trailing behind him, and pulls a key out to unlock the recording booth. "Come on in."

 

 

"You know," Louis muses as Sandeep sorts through his papers for their tabs.

"Hmm?" Sandeep says.

"It wasn't a bad strategy, really. You should get some points for the effort," Louis says.

"What wasn't a bad strategy?"

"Making the gay boy into a star." Louis leans back against the work table. "He gets too much attention, gets too well known. Maybe pair him with a few high profile members of the opposite sex. Then when the stakes get too high, it'll be that much easier to convince him he'll ruin everything if anyone knew he was gay."

"Louis—" Sandeep's eyes widen.

"Wouldn't feel bad, mate," Louis says with a wink. "Different boy, different time, might've been quite an effective strategy, yeah? You just didn't count on me being too selfish for it."

"That's not what I—" Sandeep tries again, looking horrified. "Look, they had your microphone turned down. No one could hear you."

"Yes, I am well aware of that, thank you."

"I was helping you, Louis," Sandeep protests. "I didn't even know for sure you were gay. All I knew was that they thought you were — I was just trying to help."

"Help me or help Simon?" Louis says.

"Both of you!" Sandeep says. He drags his fingers through his hair. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen him look quite this distressed before. He seems genuinely appalled at what Louis is suggesting.

"What's going on?" Hilde asks. "Is there a problem with one of the microphones?"

"Nope," Louis says, popping the 'p'. "Not anymore, I reckon. Now, there's four songs this week, am I right? Let's 'ave at it, then."

Sandeep doesn't move quickly enough, still staring at Louis, and so Louis just pulls the stacks of papers out of his hands and passes them to Liam to distribute to the boys.

Louis sits down backwards on one of the chairs and spreads his own four tabs over the tabletop. Then he plucks Sandeep's pencil straight from his hand and starts taking notes.

Sandeep finally speaks. "As far as dividing up the parts goes, we wanted Forever Young to showcase each of you individually as the winner's single. And She's the One is obviously built around Robbie Williams, but the others—"

"Let's hear the originals first, yeah?" Louis says. He gestures to Liam and the computer. "Then we can talk about the message we want to send with each song."

Liam hesitates to push Sandeep aside. But Hilde apparently doesn't sense the tension in the room, and she's the closest to the computer so she just leans down and pulls up the browser tabs.

"Perhaps we shall start with Grenade?" she says.

"Sure, love, sounds great," Louis says, voice softer as he regards her.

"So we were thinking—" Sandeep tries again. 

But then as Bruno Mars starts singing on the computer, Liam interrupts to ask, "You know, I actually thought you couldn't get the rights for this one?"

"Simon was able to wrangle it," Sandeep says. "He thought it was a good idea."

"He didn't know it was mine, did he?" Harry asks.

"I don't recall if I mentioned that," Sandeep starts. "I know you haven't always gotten along well with Simon, but you have shown good instinct for musical performance."

Louis snorts. "Good instinct for musical performance? Is that all Harry has?"

Sandeep frowns. "You can't deny that Harry has had a lot of good ideas these past few weeks—"

"Not arguing that at all. Just reckon you're selling him a bit short 'ere." Louis laughs. "Good instincts, though, is that really what you're going with? Jesus, you could have an international rockstar in this booth with us this very moment and you wouldn't even know it, would you?"

Zayn laughs, then covers his mouth in an aborted attempt to stop it.

A tense moment of silence follows.

Harry feels the instinct to stop Louis before he burns all of their bridges. Unfortunately, it's warring with the swell of pride in his chest at watching him do so. Eighteen-year-old Louis was sassy and clever but twenty-six-year-old Louis is outright _savage_.

It's really — well, he probably shouldn't be thinking about how hot it is right now. So instead he snatches Louis' copy of 'Grenade' and starts puzzling over the first verse, jotting down a few notes with his own pen.

When he glances up, Louis is looking back at him, eyebrows raised. Harry points at what he's written. Louis looks thoughtfully at it for a moment, then adds a note next to it. Harry draws a question mark. Louis shakes his head and draws an arrow and—

"Um, guys?" Liam says.

Harry looks up to find everyone's eyes on them in the silent recording booth.

Louis holds up the paper to show them and says, "Haz and I think Niall should take the first verse. But we can't agree on the second one yet."

 

 

It doesn't hit Harry right away.

Not until Louis is demonstrating suggestions to the chorus of Grenade.

And then Harry at least manages not to blurt out anything until they're alone, winding their way through the corridors of the Syco building to the exit.

"Lou, you can sing."

Which makes Niall laugh and Liam give him a confused look.

"Don't have t'sound so shocked," Louis says, raising his eyebrows. "Know it's probably been a while, but after sharing the stage a few thousand times, should I be insulted you're surprised I can carry a tune?"

"No, but you can sing _now_ ," Harry says. "Like, don't your vocal cords feel weird to you, though? Like being in someone else's body?"

"No?" Louis says. He glances down at himself. "Body seems about the same to me, too."

"Really?" Harry says. "It felt like that for me."

Louis regards him for a minute. "Maybe it's because you've changed so much."

"Is Harry's voice even _lower_?" Niall asks incredulously.

"Not _that_ much lower," Harry says.

A hint of amusement sparkles in Louis' eyes before he looks away from him. He agrees, "Some, though. And you're bigger."

"Oh yeah, he's supposed to be taller in the future, isn't he?" Liam says.

"Not _that_ much taller," Harry protests.

"Bit broader, too, I reckon." Louis tilts his head, surveying Harry. "The shoulders mostly."

Harry pouts.

"Perk up, love," Louis says as he pushes through the front door to the building. "Not all of us can be teenaged twinks for all eternity, can we? Now, Payno, where to? We expecting a car or summat?"

"Yeah, they said there'd be one," Liam says, pulling out his phone.

Harry squints out into the cold Kensington road as he zips up his coat. There's still snow piled on the edges of the pavement, a bit dirty now from not having the chance to melt in a few days.

Louis is stepping down the steps. When he turns around to look up at the Syco building, he declares for them all to hear, "Be a happy day when we no longer have to step into this fucking building again, won't it?"

There's no time to think about what Louis means by that, because then they're overtaken by the fans who'd been clearly tipped off they could find them there.

 

 

They've made their way through autographs for most of the group when Harry stumbles on a slippery patch of ice. He feels a hand come to steady his elbow.

"Thanks—" Harry starts, then looks and sees it's Louis next to him, eyes light in the snow-cloud-filled sky.

"Alright, Haz?" Louis asks, leaning in close to his ear so Harry can hear him.

"Yeah," Harry whispers. Then clears his throat and says. "Fine. Yeah. Thanks."

Louis' eyes crinkle a little at the edges and then he turns away from him. Harry watches him pass a paper with an autograph on it back to a teenage girl.

And then Harry's suddenly distracted then by the question, "Are you gay?"

Harry feels his eyes widen as he faces his questioner, a dark-haired girl with wide brown eyes.

"I—" he starts. 

He should really know better than to stumble over the answer like this. Inevitably someone in the crowd will be taping this. And he's as used to fans confronting him about his sexuality or his relationship with Louis as he is to reporters confronting him about the number of women he's slept with and paps scrambling to catch him in the same shot as someone female.

"Anna, you can't just ask that!" the blonde girl next to her shrieks. "That's personal."

"But he's the one who said it last night," the brown-haired girl says.

"All he said was that thing about love," the blonde says. "Not that he's gay."

"Sorry," the brown-haired girl says, looking legitimately contrite.

Harry stares at her.

"Haz, are you alright?" Louis asks, shoulder knocking into him.

"I'm gay," Harry says.

Louis blinks at him.

"I'm... gay?" Harry turns back to the girls. He'd forgotten. He's out. He can actually answer this question with the truth.

"So it is you?" the brown-haired girl asks. "You're the other one? Besides Lewis?"

Harry nods. Then corrects her, "It's Louis, actually."

"Do you have a boyfriend, then?" the blonde girl asks curiously, apparently having forgotten her objection to personal questions.

He doesn't know the proper answer, doesn't know exactly what he should say, but for the first time it's not making his insides twist with a queasy guilt-shame.

He wonders if this is how it would've felt all those years if he'd been straight when he was asked if he had a girlfriend.

The girls must take the way he's shaking his head, stupefied, to mean the answer is 'no' because the brown-haired girl asks, "Do you _want_ a boyfriend, then?"

Harry chokes out a laugh.

"My cousin's gay, I could—"

"I thought your cousin already had a boyfriend?" the brown-haired girl hisses.

"But not one as fit as Harry!" the blonde hisses back. But then she looks back at Harry. "He's, like, ancient, though. He's already at uni."

Harry laughs again. "Do you two have something you'd like me to sign then?"

 

 

Harry has the end of the backseat of the van, Louis the opposite end, with Niall between them. Zayn is hunched over his phone in front of them and Liam keeps turning around to chat with Louis about Forever Young. Niall's interrupting with a question about the harmony when Harry suddenly blurts out, "Do you not want to be in the band?"

"Does who not want to be in the band?" Liam asks. But then he glances at where Harry is looking at Louis and says. "Oh."

"What?" Louis says. He frowns at Harry. "You're asking if _I_ don't want to be in the band?"

"You said you were going to be happy not to go back to the Syco building," Harry says. "It's fine if you don't! I mean, more than fine. It's your choice, right? Like, I know none of this _was_ your choice, but that should be, at least."

"Well, I'm not putting my fucking pen onto any paper with the name Syco on any part of it, that's for certain," Louis says.

"Oh," Harry says, biting his lip.

"Hazza, I'm not saying I don't want to be in the band, though."

But then they're interrupted by arriving back at the house.

 

 

"So you _do_ want to be in the band," Harry says slowly as Louis puts the kettle on.

"I was never the one who wanted out, love," Louis says. "You know that."

"Harry wasn't either," Niall interrupts loyally from next to Harry.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him.

"Harry told us a lot about the future," Liam says, scratching the back of his neck. "How things would be in the band. Told us how hard things might get and how we broke up. I think he wanted us to have a choice."

"I did want you to have a choice," Harry says. "But I also wanted you to get to play stadiums like Wembley. It's the most amazing thing."

"It is," Louis agrees softly, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. "I want that for the lads, too."

"But if we don't sign with Syco, we might not be able to sign with anyone," Harry says. "And Modest—"

"Look, I want to be in the band, alright?" Louis says. "But I'm not going to stand here and let any one of us sign with Syco."

Harry frowns. "But, Lou. None of the industry is that great about anything. Since we don't have a choice, it might as well be the devil we know."

Louis regards him for a long moment before saying, quietly. "Hazza, you were the one who got out."

"What?" he says.

"You got out," Louis repeats. "And, yeah, I know breaking up the band wasn't what you wanted to happen. But your new people managed to make Syco an offer they couldn't refuse. And I thank fuck they managed it, because just imagine being signed to Syco without the pull of being the biggest pop band in the world keeping them motivated."

Harry frowns. "What do you mean?"

Louis looks at him tiredly. "You know what I mean."

The kettle clicks off and Louis breaks eye contact with him to get it.

"I don't know, though, Louis." Harry glances at the other boys who are all watching them silently. After a moment, Louis hands him a cup.

"Remember we used to say it was a toss up whether what Simon cared about more was money or his pride?"

Harry nods.

"Look, I've been sat here eighteen months with a completed album just waiting on the shelf." Louis leans back against the worktop. "Gone past so many projected release dates that I've had to stop believing it was ever going to happen. Literally had venues booked for a tour last _year_ when I had to pull out of them."

"What?" Harry says. "But your singles are all amazing. And they've done really well, even with hardly any promo. " 

"And why do you think there's been no promo?" Louis says. "Or why Payno and I are the only ones without albums in going on three years."

"You figured out the answer to the question of what Simon cares more about," Harry says sadly.

Louis shrugs. "Look, god knows what Malik's been up to. And Niall's always been able to finagle things for himself. It's Payno and I—" He glances at Liam, who is hanging on his every word. "We made too many enemies, didn't we? Or, well, issue wasn't so much with the quantity. The number doesn't really matter as long as it includes Simon Cowell."

"Jesus, Louis, why didn't you guys tell me?" Harry demands. "I was sat there the whole time thinking—"

"Love, you got out, you're a fucking rockstar. That's all I cared about."

"That's not all _I_ cared about, though," Harry insists.

"I know that." Louis looks away and then continues, "Look, all I'm saying is, even if we were five straight boys stood here going into The X Factor final, I'd still not let a single one of us tie ourselves to that snake."

"The lawyer said we might not have a choice," Niall jumps in. "He said Syco has — what was it?"

"Right of last refusal," Harry says dully.

"Yeah, that."

"We'll figure it out, lads. We're already a bit of a thorn in Cowell's side, aren't we? I've read that contract we all signed. Maybe he'll just exercise that refusal and have done with it," Louis says. "Wouldn't be the first X Factor winners he'd had signed outside of Syco."

"You think?"

"I think it's possible, yeah," Louis says. "I think this mess isn't nearly as tangled as it could be."

 

 

Harry comes downstairs dressed for their Sainsbury Try Team holiday dinner to find Zayn, Liam and Niall piled on the sofa.

"You could have warned me at least," Zayn hisses when Harry squeezes into the spot that Liam and Niall make for him.

"Warned you about what?" Harry asks.

"That Louis apparently hates me now?"

Harry glances around. They're alone, save for the couple of assistants in the hallway, hanging up garlands out of earshot.

"It's not fair," Zayn insists. "I didn't even do whatever it is that he hates me for yet."

"I know it's not fair," Harry says with a sigh. Louis is one to hold grudges with a tenacity to rival a dog with a beef bone.

"It's only been a couple of days," Niall says placatingly. "I'm sure he'll come around. He seems like a good person."

"Of _course_ he's a good person," Harry protests. "He's still Louis."

"That's what I meant," Niall says.

Liam gives Harry a thoughtful look. "Is he how you remember him? You said you hadn't seen him in two years, right?"

"Yeah, he's—" Harry thinks about it, eyes flicking up involuntarily upward, to where Louis is still upstairs talking with his family on the phone. "I mean, he's only been here about two days. But, yeah, he is, I think, how I remember him."

"Hadn't realized how much Louis used to smile until—" Liam starts, then cuts himself off, saying instead, "Well, he's really different, isn't he?"

"More different than me?" Harry asks. 

The other boys glance at each other.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Zayn starts. Harry raises his eyebrows, not sure he really wants to know the answer now. "But we didn't really know you that well, did we?"

"Yeah, we've probably known you-you longer than we knew sixteen-year-old you," Niall says. "Not, like, total time maybe, but hours spent together?"

"Knew younger you from bootcamp a bit, judges' houses, the first two live shows," Liam says, counting it off on his fingers. "Even total time is coming close, seeing as we're about to the Final now."

Harry hadn't thought about that.

"Plus, you're not as—" Liam spreads his arms wide.

Zayn chokes out a laugh. "What are you even talking about?"

"No, like—" Liam gestures again, spreading his arms wider.

Niall laughs now and says, "Harry's not as what, big? Fat?"

"No. I don't know, _loud_?" Liam says.

Harry smiles at him, feeling a well of pride in his chest.

"Yeah, Louis is big, isn't he?" Harry says fondly. "Like larger than life? Like his voice, there's no reason he should be so loud, but he is. He just kind of like takes over, doesn't he? Gets everyone's attention. Sometimes I just love to, like, watch him, just be himself."

"Er, yeah," Liam says. Harry glances back at the other boys who are all watching him.

"I pictured—" Niall starts, then shakes his head. "Pictured something different. Like that he'd be quieter or shy or something. You said it was like he was broken in the future and I thought—"

"No," Harry says, sitting up straight. "I didn't say—" Except he thinks he actually _did_ say exactly that. "I shouldn't have said that."

"But what you said, he's been through some shit, hasn't he?" Niall says. "It's pretty obvious. And everything you said they did to him, that media training. You're the one who said it worked."

But Zayn snorts. "Yeah. Worked so well that first chance he had, he came out as gay on live telly and managed a nice private fuck you to Simon Cowell while he did it."

"He's the strongest person I know," Harry murmurs quietly, fiddling with the hem of his jumper between his fingers.

"I didn't mean he wasn't—" Niall starts.

"You were right, though, Harry, when you said he knew all about this stuff," Liam cuts in. "I mean, he even understood our contract."

It's true, and Harry hates that it is, because he knows full well that himself having said that was probably the main thing that led Louis to bring his future self back in time.

All he can do now is hope he can be there for Louis, make this worth it for him.

 

 

On the staircase, carollers are singing 'Silent Night' and the Sainsbury team is serving them up a holiday dinner for the cameras.

"That's ham."

"Yes?" Louis says, wiggling the plate he's trying to pass Zayn. "Don't you want it?"

"No, I don't want fucking _ham_ ," he hisses, crossing his arms over his chest. He must not be loud enough for the camera mics to pick up because none of the PAs are rushing over to silence them.

"Fine," Louis says, lowering the plate down.

Zayn huffs out a sigh. Harry catches Louis' eyes from across the table. He shakes his head and nods meaningfully at Zayn. Louis looks confused for a moment longer, but then his eyes finally widen in understanding.

"Forgot about the pork, mate, sorry," he tells Zayn.

"You forgot?" Matt laughs from Louis' other side. "You risked life and limb to keep him from the pork in the — what was it we had the other week?"

"German meatloaf," the chef from the Sainsbury try team supplies, coming up behind them to set a dish of cranberries between them. "Louis, you got flour everywhere and just about broke that table over there. Don't know how you managed to forget that."

"Right," Louis says. "Well, risking a bit of property damage is a fairly day-to-day occurence for me, so..."

 

 

"What do you look for in a girl?" Liam reads off the paper the next day. Then stops himself. "I mean, a person. What do you lot look for in a person?"

"Are we seriously answering this question again?" Zayn asks.

"Liam," Pattie interrupts. "Maybe you could read it over again and we'll restart filming?"

"Right, of course." Liam clears his throat. Harry watches from the bottom step of the stairs as he unfolds the paper and reads off, "Angie from Harrogate wants to know, what do we look for in a person? Niall?"

"Well, I—"

"No," Pattie interrupts again. "Can you read it the way it's written, please?"

Liam glances down at them and Harry shrugs. Maybe this will be their chance to make a point, let them identify themselves as gay or straight.

"All right," Liam says. "Angie from Harrogate wants to know, what do we look for in a girl. Niall, do you want to start us off on this one?"

"Pretty eyes," he says.

"A nice face," Zayn says dully.

Liam prompts, "Louis?"

"Well." Louis twists around to face the camera. "I suppose what I look for in a girl is the same thing I look for in a lad, which is—"

"No, stop." Pattie has the cameraman turn off the recording. "I asked you to answer the question as it was written."

Louis tenses next to Harry. "You mean, you want two gay lads to tell you what they look for in a girl."

She crosses her arms. "Can we just finish the recording so we can both get on with our days? I'm sure you have a lot of practice to do seeing as you'll be out of town the next two days."

They had been supposed to be out of town today, too, doing a home visit in Ireland. But, as Harry and Louis had warned Niall not to get his hopes up, the flight had been cancelled due to the ice on the runways. Zayn had not been thrilled that Niall received warning for that when he hadn't had warning about his grandfather and—

Well, here they are. Apparently answering questions about what they look for in a girl, just like any other week.

"You know, I think—" Louis glances around at the rest of them. "I think we actually need to be at a practice session right around now, don't we, lads?"

"Right," Liam says, catching on as Louis leads them all to stand up. "That's right, Sandeep said—"

"Boys," Pattie interrupts impatiently.

"Sorry, looks like we'll have to finish this another time," Louis calls back behind them.

"Boys, this is part of your job—"

"What was that about?" Liam hisses once they're away from the back stairs and any prying ears.

"Don't know, lads," Louis says. "Trying to get us to go back on what we said?"

"It doesn't even make sense, though," Niall says.

"When does anything this lot does ever make sense?" Louis asks. "Now, we actually do need to practice. Haz, do you want to—"

"Work with Niall and Zayn on Grenade?" Harry asks.

"Yes, exactly," Louis says, flashing him a small smile. "And Payno and I will go over that sticky part of Forever Young."

 

 

Not too long after, Carole's arrived at the house, an assistant trailing behind her with armfuls of clothing, and she's set up in a corner of the practice room with Louis.

When there is general confusion at her talking about Louis wanting to be camp, they have to explain that he is back from the future, too, now, also.

"Your boyband is going to be all men soon," Carole says with a laugh.

"You mean that Louis is too fucking ancient to be in a boyband?" Zayn says.

"No, that's not what I—"

But Zayn's already half out of the room. Liam jumps up and followed him. Harry exchanges a brief look with Louis and then picks up a guitar and plops down next to Niall on the floor. 

If their practice is going to be interrupted, he might as well use the time to try to distract Niall. Even with the warning not to get his hopes up, he's been a bit down about not going home today.

As Harry strums the guitar, he watches Louis out of the corner of his eye, ducked over Carole's iPad as they flip through new ideas for his style.

His sleeves are pushed up, the words 'please be loud' only the slightest hint of ink over the lean muscles of his forearm.

Harry's half-listening to the words they're throwing around, he thinks he hears something about 'punk' and 'britpop', when Niall interrupts him, speaking through a mouthful of apple.

"Hey, do I know that one?"

Harry glances up at him, then thinks about the chords he's been distractedly strumming. He nods and then gives Niall's guitar a pointed look where it's discarded over in the corner.

Niall pops the rest of the apple in his mouth as he goes to fetch it. He wipes his hands on his trousers and settles back in next to Harry.

Once Niall is playing along with him, Harry starts to pluck out the melody. And then Niall laughs, face lighting up.

"I _do_ know this," he says, and then he begins singing the melody out loud.

Harry catches Louis' eye from across the room, where he and Carole are apparently now looking through some of the band tees she'd brought by. When he meets Harry's eyes, his lips twitch into a hint of smile and Harry feels a warmth in his chest.

 _Always thought I'd see you, baby, one more time again —_ At the end, Niall fakes his way through a riff on his acoustic guitar, making Harry laugh.

Louis turns at the sound and meets Harry's eyes again.

"Now, that lad over there," Louis says to Carole, voice rising. "He could use some of those. Looks proper naked."

"I could use some what?" Harry asks. He glances down at himself in his oversized hoodie, trousers, socks — it's about as far from naked as he ever gets.

Niall laughs. "Actually, Harry, weren't you always saying that, when you first came back? That you felt naked?"

"Yeah, I mean, no tattoos," Harry says.

"Those tattoos were really important to you, weren't they?" Carole asks, expression soft.

Harry doesn't know what else to do but nod.

"No tattoos," Louis says. "No necklaces. No..." He doesn't finish the sentence but the glance down at Harry's hands says clearly what he means. Harry ducks them into his hoodie pockets.

"Not even any nail polish," Harry says.

"No, not even that," Louis says, eyes coming back up to rest on him. "Also you're missing about twelve inches of hair, I reckon."

Harry bites his lip. "Been missing that for a while."

Louis nods softly. "I know."

"Wait, Harry used to have long hair?" Niall asks. "How long?"

"Wet or dry?"

"Does it matter?"

"When you've got this lad's curls it does," Louis says.

"I don't know how your management's going to feel about you growing out your hair, Harry," Carole says, sounding apologetic. "Or tattoos, for that matter. At least not for a while."

"I'm too young for anyone to tattoo me, anyways, and—" Harry shrugs. "It's a whole new life, isn't it? Don't have to be the same person I've been before."

Louis meets his eyes and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the door opens and Liam walks in.

"What's wrong?" Niall asks. "Did you find Zayn?"

"Oh yeah, found him," Liam says distractedly. "He's fine. He'll be here in a minute. Just—" He holds out his phone. "Got a text from one of the Syco PAs. Something about a photo?"

"They want you for a photoshoot? Not right now, I certainly hope," Carole says, folding up the t-shirt in her hands.

"No, an actual photo," Liam says. "Harry, they said they had to buy a photo off of someone?"

Harry frowns and stands up. That wording sounds suspiciously like something they'd had done too many times to count in the future. Someone catches one of them in anything that could be a compromising situation and their management would buy the photos before they'd be made public. But he can't think of a good reason they'd have to do that now.

He glances at Liam's phone but the wording of the text doesn't make it any clearer what it's about. It just says that there was a photo from the weekend and that they are reminded to be prudent in following the X Factor rules.

"Maybe..." Harry glances at Louis then back at Liam. "Didn't you say that Louis and Zayn had been outside smoking the other night? It's probably just that someone got a photo."

"I told you that was a bad idea!" Liam exclaims at Louis. 

Louis holds up his hands. "You didn't actually tell _me_ anything, Payno."

"Oh." Liam frowns. "Right."

 

 

Sometime past midnight and during the fiftieth game of snake on his phone, the notification flashes that his battery's about to die and then his snake dies a horrific death of silent self-cannibalism. Harry flops back onto his back and sighs quietly.

It's his third night sleeping without Louis in the bunk with him and falling asleep hasn't been exactly easy. Compounded with the way that he and Louis are hardly ever quite touching during the day, all the easy touches and hugs gone, he's feeling more than a bit lonely. Plus, there's the achy-arousal from not actually having jerked off in a few days, either, which isn't making it any easier to sleep.

And, well, that last one might be the only of the three that Harry can do anything about.

 

 

He pads down the hall and flicks on the bathroom light at the same time he hears a "Hazza?" from behind him.

"Shit!" Harry yelps, whirling around in the dark hallway. Then whispers, "Shit, sorry."

"Are you alright?" Louis asks. "Been tossing and turning all night, love."

"I'm fine," Harry says. And then realizes that if Louis noticed he must have been keeping him from sleeping. "Sorry, Lou. I didn't mean to keep you up. I'm really fine. You can go back to bed."

Louis looks him up and down. The upstairs hallway is cold and dark but with the bathroom light on, Harry knows exactly what Louis' going to see there.

Harry tries to reposition his sweatsuit bottoms over his hips, but he's sure it doesn't help much.

"Sorry," Harry mutters again. He's not sure that he needs to apologize, but it seems like the right thing to do when being caught wandering the nighttime hallways with an erection visible in your sweatsuit bottoms. "My body thinks I'm, like, actually sixteen."

"Yeah?" Louis says, stepping forwards with a soft laugh. "Are you sure that's down to you being sixteen? You've been the most sexual creature I know at any age, love."

Harry bites his thumbnail.

"I could help you with that, though?" Louis offers.

" _What_?"

"I mean, you and me — you and the me I can't remember — you were together with him, yeah?"

Harry stares at him.

"Mary mentioned to me how she stumbled in on us once," Louis says.

"She never walked in on us."

"That you know of," Louis says. "But also, woke up the other morning with a love bite here." He touches his right collarbone through his t-shirt. Harry feels his eyes widen. "Unless you want to tell me someone else gave me that?"

"No, no, that was me. Shit." Harry slumps back against the wall, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Lou. I wasn't trying to keep it a secret from you. But it must have been bad enough to be brought back here when you didn't even have a choice. This must feel like such a violation. I didn't mean—"

"Harry."

Harry pauses at the touch of soft fingers over his bare wrist. He slowly lowers his hands to see Louis peering at him.

Looking a bit amused.

"You're not actually okay with that, are you?" Harry asks.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Louis asks. "Can pretty well guarantee you that whatever you did, that lucky sod was gagging for it."

"Oh." Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "We didn't do much. Just a couple of times. I — we weren't together that long. Not for as long as last time."

"Well," Louis says with a shrug. "The offer's still on."

"You..."

"Nothing we haven't done before, is it?"

Harry stares at him. To hear Louis offer him that, so easily, so casually, makes something twist painfully in his chest.

"You alright?" Louis asks.

"No," Harry says. "I mean, no. I can't. I don't want—"

"It's fine, Haz," Louis says, stepping back. "I just reckoned I'd remember what you liked."

"Right," Harry says miserably. "I'm sorry, I just — I can't do that without it meaning something to me."

"Oh."

When Harry looks up again, Louis' expression is shuttered, light dimmed behind his eyes.

"Right, of course," Louis says. "I'll leave you to it, then, yeah?"

And he leaves Harry to watch him walk away in the light from the bathroom.

 

 

The next morning, Harry's sitting on Louis' bottom bunk, finishing up stuffing clothes into his bag when he startles at a sound from the door.

"Alright, Haz?"

"Yeah." Harry ducks his eyes from where Louis is standing there. He surveys the contents of his bag and then stuffs in another pair of socks for good measure. His winter boots aren't the best insulated and they're bound to get wet if he's outside for long enough.

"Can't believe I forgot about these," Louis says. 

Harry turns around to see him turning over Harry's large purple trainer in his hands.

Harry smiles a bit. "Yeah, they went missing after that prank you pulled on The X Factor—"

"On the tour, yeah," Louis says, nodding. "I remember. Well worth the cost."

"Debatable," Harry tells him dryly.

"Well, you've got them back now, yeah? That's what matters," Louis says.

"That _is_ the real reason I wanted to come back to 2010," Harry tells him. "You know they don't make shoes like this anymore."

Louis shoots him a small smile and then hands him the shoe back. Harry rubs a finger over the purple suede. He thinks about how Louis had tried his hardest to surprise him with a pair for his birthday once only to utterly fail to obtain a pair.

"Is the driver ready for us?"

"Probably," Louis says. 

Harry glances up. "Everything okay?"

Louis nods and lowers himself onto Zayn's bunk so he's seated directly opposite Harry, knees almost touching. But he glances away when Harry tries to meet his eyes. Harry's starting to get worried.

"Right, so." Louis rubs his hands over his own thighs. "I reckon I shouldn't say this. Not yet, at least. Or ever, maybe. I know I'm not the version of myself you want. But I'm a selfish prat at heart, aren't I?"

"What?" Harry demands, mind running over the words Louis just said. Then the shoe tumbles off his knees as he starts to stand up. "Louis, what, no — _what_ did you just say?"

"No, let me speak, Haz."

Harry opens his mouth to try again.

"Please," Louis entreats.

Harry lets out a ragged breath but sits back down on the bed.

"It just seems like this might be real, this," Louis says. "The real deal, you know. Not a dream or whatnot."

Harry watches him.

"And if this is real, that means it could be a chance to do it right, couldn't it?" Louis' eyes are so blue looking back at him. "Look, I know I'm not the version of me you had hope for. I get that. I'm the one who's let you down over and over again and broken your heart and I reckon I _am_ a bit broken."

" _Louis_ , no—"

"But things are already so different this time," Louis says, leaning forwards. "You've already changed so much. And look around us, darling. I don't know how all the rest of it's going to fit, but we're not going to be in the fucking closet this time and that has to be worth something, doesn't it?" He offers Harry a small smile. "There's so much I know now that I didn't when we were sat here eight years ago. And I promise I won't compromise on anything important this time."

Harry shakes his head.

"I know my promise probably isn't worth much—"

"No, Louis, it's worth _everything_ ," Harry insists.

"Just, darling," Louis continues. "If you ever decided you wanted to give me a second chance, I'd do my fucking hardest to get it right for you this time."

"No," Harry says. "You can't. _No_."

Louis gives him a long look, then blinks, looking away.

"Right," Louis says as he moves to stand up. "That's fine, Hazza, I understand. I just couldn't go on without saying me piece, yeah?"

"No. I mean, _no_ ," Harry says, jumping to his feet. He grabs for Louis' arm to keep him from walking away.

"Yeah, I heard you, darling."

"I'm not saying no, though, Lou."

"Sure are saying the word 'no' a lot for someone not saying it."

"No, I'm not—" Harry stops himself and tries again. "I've just been trying to love you better than I did, Louis."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'd never, ever, ever not want—"

"Um, guys?" Liam's voice calls from the stairs.

"Tell the driver to wait five minutes. I'll pay them," Harry calls back.

"You don't have any money," Liam calls. Harry can hear the pound of his footsteps on the stairs.

"Louis has five pounds in his wallet!" Harry's pretty sure about that. "And the driver can have my purple trainers, too, if they'll fit him."

"It's a she, actually, and, no, I don't think they'll fit her. But that's actually not—"

Harry wrenches his eyes away from Louis and looks at Liam. Something of the anguish must show on his face because Liam grimaces.

"Sorry. It's just, I got one of those google alerts. There's this new article in The Sun—"

"Whatever it is, it's lies, Li. I wouldn't worry," Harry tells him. "The Sun's the worst of Simon's mouthpieces."

"I know," Liam says. "That's actually, um, why I was a bit worried." 

He holds out his phone for Harry to see.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter contains a bit of Louis's family, just a reminder that I'm not including any recent personal tragedies in this story

Harry can make out the headline even before he takes the phone from Liam. He glances at Louis, who is watching him with a crease in his brow, and when he sees him make a move to come closer, Harry angles himself away to block Louis' view of the phone.

As he reads, the tears, which had been welling at his eyes from Louis' words just moments ago, turn hot, stinging. He barely makes it to the end of the article before he had to pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze his eyes shut.

These aren't sad tears. His heart isn't pounding in his chest out of sorrow. Anger may not come easily to him. He's more likely to try to understand both sides, make friends of his enemies or at worst resent them quietly from afar.

But maybe all it took was traveling backwards in time, because on this 2010 morning, the anger has finally caught up to him.

He feels a gentle touch on his shoulder and hears, "Hazza, are you alright?"

And then he hears, "Um, Harry, you're going to break my phone." And then feels hands try to pry the phone from his clenched hand.

He takes a deep, shaky breath before opening his eyes. When his vision clears, he sees Liam looking at him, wide-eyed.

"What did the article say, Hazza?"

Harry turns to Louis, takes in the concern in his blue eyes, and shakes his head at his question.

"No," he says. "This isn't — we're not doing it like this. This isn't how it's going to happen this time."

"What's not going to happen?" Louis asks. "Payno, hand me that phone."

He reaches out to block Louis from getting the phone even though he knows he can't stop him from knowing. All he can do is—

"Final warning, boys!" comes a voice from the staircase. "We're running late, there's ice on the roads and we've just got notice they want you at Syco before we head north. Hurry up!"

 

 

Their rented bus isn't one of their usual vans and isn't a proper tour bus, but something in between. Harry thinks it's one of the ones they used on The X Factor tour but he can't be sure.

The seats are in rows of two on either side of the aisle. The first row is taken up by two X Factor PAs and Pattie from Modest. The two rows in the back are filled with three of the camera crew and some of their equipment. One of the middle rows has Niall and Zayn sharing a bench. Louis takes a seat in the next row and before Harry can stop him, Liam claims the seat next to him.

"Li, switch with me," Harry tells Liam, as he sees Louis finally snatch Liam's phone out of his hands.

"Sure," Liam mutters, but as he starts to stand up, the PA turns behind them and says, "Just sit down, Harry, there isn't time for this."

And so Harry spends the ride through the snowy London roads gnawing on his knuckle and watching Louis' expression as he reads off the phone. Sees the way his eyes narrow and then his expression shutters before he hands the phone back to Liam.

Harry starts to say, "Lou—"

But he's interrupted by Louis, who cuts him off with a quiet, "Not now." And then settles back in his seat, facing away from them to stare out the window.

Harry would try harder to talk to him except Pattie and the PAs are seated right ahead of them. Instead he rubs at his eyes and pulls out his own phone.

It takes him only a moment to find The Sun's website and the 'Fans Demand Apology from One Direction After Publicity Stunt'.

_Simon Cowell's new boyband is in hot water after their faked "coming out" on the Xtra Factor results show aired Sunday night. According to an X Factor insider, the boys had sought to garner publicity by proclaiming themselves to be the first boyband with not one, but two, gay members. Louis Tomlinson is said to be behind the ill-advised stunt._

_"The others look up to him as the eldest of the boys and so of course they went along with it," the source says. "But it was so obviously false, I don't know how he actually expected anyone to believe it."_

_The source goes on to recall for us that the boys have been acting like children in a toy shop, hooking up with girls left and right ever since the series began._

_There has been an outcry from fans for apology, but so far none of the boys have responded._

Harry looks at Louis again. He's still looking silently out the window on the other side of the bus. The angle and the early morning sunlight make his cheeks look sharper, gaunter than they are.

Harry glances up front at their minders and then back at Louis. After another moment of unsuccessfully attempting to will him to look back in his direction, Harry blinks back more angry tears.

"You're all so quiet," one of the PAs, Shelley, Harry thinks her name is, remarks into the silence of the bus. "This too early in the morning for you?"

After a beat, Liam says, "Yeah. Guess we're all a bit knackered."

 

 

"Boys, I've said it before. This is not the right time to be gay," Simon says. 

Through cracks of frost on the office windows, morning light shadows the white lines of his office. Unlike their usual meetings, which take place in his sitting room, they're at Simon's desk this morning. 

Also unlike their usual meetings, joining them are Simon's exec Robert Gorden, Modest's co-founder Henry Gomery and another man.

The others all have seats around Simon's desk, which means there aren't enough chairs for the five of them. Harry has ended up with a chair of his own, mostly courtesy of Louis and Zayn somehow coming in late despite them all having arrived together.

"When is the right time to be gay, then?" Louis asks from behind Harry, voice hard.

"How about when it's not going to cost you your careers, boys?" the fourth man asks with a greasy smirk.

"Pardon me, who were you again?" Louis asks.

Harry twists around to look at where Louis has his eyes resting on the man in challenge. He knows Louis knows full well who this is from their meetings in the future. Knows that Louis just as much as him would probably rather block those meetings form his memory.

"This is Max Sewell. He's my personal lawyer," Simon says.

"Your lawyer?" Liam repeats faintly.

Simon laughs. "Don't worry, I'm not going to sue you this morning, boys. Max simply has some expertise in your unique situation."

"I've helped keep more difficult boys than you in the closet," Max informs them. "You wouldn't believe the footballers I have on my client list."

"Because you can't have gay boys in boybands _or_ on the football pitch," Harry says, not even caring how much irritation is coming through in his tone.

"Harry," Simon says, a warning note in his voice.

"Hey, hey," Henry Gomery cuts in, raising his hands up and chuckling, round cheeks flushed. "You're just new to this game, kids. This isn't about you being gay. I'm sure we can all understand being young and wanting to be true to ourselves, but there will be time for that once you have a career for yourselves."

Liam shifts beside Harry and when Harry glances down he can see he's gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles are white. But he still speaks up and says, "Are we all forgetting here that they've already come out?"

"Nothing that can't be undone," Simon says, pursing his lip. "I don't suppose you've had a chance to see the papers this morning, but we gave The Sun an article—"

"Actually we have seen it," Harry cuts him off. Simon's dark eyes fall on him again.

"You don't expect people will really believe that it's a joke, though, do you?" Niall asks with an uncomfortable laugh.

"Why would the newspapers lie to them?" Simon asks, finally taking his eyes off Harry. "They're not the immature boys with a well-established penchant for pranks."

"Yeah, but..." Niall trails off.

Harry glances over at him but Niall just trails off. Zayn's the only one of them who hasn't said anything yet, but he's just standing silently behind Liam's chair, fingers clenched around his phone.

At that moment, Liam happens to shift and Zayn's phone tumbles to the floor. Zayn swears and kneels down to grab it.

"Are you playing on your phone while we're talking here?" Simon demands. "And you wonder why people won't take you seriously. Now, put that away."

Zayn mutters an apology and glances at Louis as he stuffs his phone into his pocket.

"Look, but, remember, we wanted them to come out," Liam tries again valiantly. "Even if you don't think we'll make it as far, we don't want them to have to be in the closet."

"Well, some things aren't up to you," Robert snaps. This is the first time he's spoken. So far, he's just watched them with increasing sourness in his expression, as if he can see the profit dropping on his spreadsheets with every word he hears them speak.

"No, they're up to Simon, aren't they," Louis says, voice cold. "Tell us, just how thrilled were you when this boy here gave me his mic?"

"You know full well that you could've had your sound turned on from the beginning if you'd only cooperated," Simon crosses his thick arms over his chest. "You were the one who insisted on continuing to act so out of keeping with the image you were supposed to—"

"So out of keeping?" Louis interrupts. "You mean gay?"

"I mean out of keeping with the image you were told to represent," Simon says, though clenched teeth. "And in this case, that means—"

"Gay," Louis says again.

"Yes." Simon glares back at him.

"This is so wrong," Liam mutters.

Max points out with a smirk, "Well, you didn't become contestants on a reality show for your strong moral values, did you?"

 

 

"That was fucking scary," Niall says. 

"What was scary?" Pattie asks, turning around.

Niall visibly jolts, clearly having just now remembered they aren't alone in the bus.

"Did they get the promo voiceovers they needed, then?" she continues when he doesn't answer.

There's no mocking in her tone. Harry thinks she truly doesn't know that recording voiceovers was just the flimsy excuse they'd been given for the last minute stop at Syco. That what they'd really been summoned for was an introduction to their marketing plan, which in itself was just a flimsy cover for being glared at by powerful old men until they were too intimidated to cause any more trouble.

"They did," Liam speaks up politely after a moment. "No problem. Thanks for stopping for us."

One of the PAs snorts.

"Wasn't exactly a choice," he says. Murray, Harry thinks his name is. His wife is on one of the camera crews. "We'll be late enough to Doncaster as it is."

As the bus pulls onto the motorway, Harry glances at Louis next to him. He's slouched down in his seat, hands buried in his coat pockets as he stares out the window over the passing cars. They're close but barely touching, the sleeves of their coats just brushing against each other.

Harry bites his knuckle as he looks back down at his phone. He needs to talk to Louis so badly he's thrumming with it. He managed to squeeze into the bench beside him for this leg of their bus trip. But they're so far from alone here, between the other boys, their Modest rep, multiple PAs and members of the camera crew all around them.

But Harry doesn't know when the next time he'll be able to truly talk will be. Maybe tonight, when they stop at a hotel. It had gone, well, differently last time. Today had been a day of giddy excitement, returning to their hometowns as newly born popstars, sharing a hotel room for the first time in proper privacy.

Today, in this new version of 2010, all Harry can feel are Simon's chains constricting around his chest, watching the man he loves more than life have his name smeared in the papers yet again for Harry's sake. 

And after all that Louis said this morning, that Harry hadn't had a chance to respond to — 

Louis shifts to give him room as Harry reaches down into his shoulder bag stuffed between his legs on the floor. He pulls out his diary and a pen and flips through to a blank page. It had been barely half full when he'd arrived here and now there aren't so many pages left.

He doesn't know how long he waits there, paused with his pen over the paper as the bus rambles down the motorway, trying to figure out what to write.

But then Louis reaches to take the diary from him. When Harry looks up, he's looking at him queryingly, as if asking permission.

Harry nods. Louis has seen this diary before, even if many of the pages have been filled with different words.

Louis flips through the earlier pages, skimming the words. Then he pauses where the text turns abruptly from Harry's sixteen-year-old scrawl to his twenty-four-year-old block letters. He traces his fingers over the pen marks.

"Louis?" Harry whispers.

"It's really you," Louis says softly.

Harry nods, meeting his light blue eyes. "It's me, Lou."

Louis shakes his head and hands the diary back to him. He tells him in a low voice, "Look, Hazza, everything I said this morning. It doesn't matter anymore, obviously."

"No," Harry says out loud, startled. Out of the corner of his eye he takes in the number of others who turn to heads at him. He lowers his voice, whispers, "No, it matters so much, Louis."

Louis shakes his head again.

Harry puts his pen to the paper and writes in careful letters through the jostling of the bus.

_All I wanted coming back here was to save the boy who gave up everything to love me._

"Haz—" Louis starts.

Harry writes more,

_I treasured every single second I had with you. The hard ones as much as the easy ones. Maybe the hard ones even more._

"Don't do this," Louis whispers.

Harry adds to the paper,

_I'd love any and every version of you. But how could you think I would prefer the one who didn't remember me?_

When he glances up, Louis is looking away, out the window.

He adds to the diary,

_Please please believe me._   
_You're the love of my whole entire life_   
_I love you forever_

He tilts the diary for Louis to see and tugs gently at his coat to get his attention.

But Louis doesn't look down at it.

"Louis, please," Harry begs him.

"Don't do this, Hazza," he whispers again, still refusing to look down at what Harry's written.

Harry wipes frustrated tears from his eyes and puts his pen down to the paper again.

_You gave me the world. But what I wanted most in it was to see you happy. Broke my fucking heart every day to stay away from you._

He writes,

_But I couldn't stand being the one who caged and hurt you any longer. You deserved to fly and so I finally set you free._

He wipes more tears away from his eyes.

_I don't know anymore if I was right or wrong. All I want is to be good to you._

Louis still isn't looking at him, or the words he's written. Harry adds to the page,

_I love you._

He chokes down more tears. As much as he wants to curl up here on this bench in the bus and sob and mourn, his heart is pounding in his chest, against the chains constricting him. Today, he's more than just sad.

He's so fucking angry at the world that did this to them.

Louis is still looking out the window. Harry glances between the ITV crew and their Modest rep, to Zayn dozing against Liam's shoulder, to Liam bent over his phone, to Niall with his headphones on staring listlessly out the window.

He adds to the page,

_I love you._   
_And I love these boys._   
_I'm going to set the world on fire for you._   
_I'm going down fighting this time._

He writes,

_I love you forever and ever._

Louis still isn't looking at him. So Harry slips his diary down into Louis' bag instead of his own, so at least he will see it and hopefully open it and read it soon.

Then he opens twitter and composes a tweet.

 

 

And suddenly they're not halfway to Doncaster but it feels like they're running out of time.

He stares down at it for a moment, biting his knuckle. Then he texts Gemma. Then his mother. Then Nick.

Then he looks up, licks his cold-chapped lips, and surveys the other boys. They desperately need to talk, to plan. But surrounded by the crew, they can't right now.

So he just clears his throat and says to Liam, "Um, Li?"

Liam startles, looking up at him from where he's been typing on his phone.

"We should probably send a tweet from the 1D twitter, shouldn't we? Say we're looking forwards to Donny and Bradford today?" Harry says. Liam's the only one with that account set up on his phone.

"I — sure?"

Harry looks down and types out a quick text to him.

_change the password_

Harry hears the ding of the message go through and Liam startles and looks up at him, lips parted in surprise. Harry just gives him a meaningful look and watches as he turns to his phone.

But then a moment later Liam shakes his head. "I can't get into it — the password's not working." He frowns. "Why wouldn't the password work?"

Harry feels a very familiar sinking feeling in his chest. Pattie turns around to regard them, "We have to change them regularly to keep out hackers, maybe that's why."

"What's the new one, then?" Zayn asks, he straights up from where he's been slouched napping against Liam's shoulder.

"I don't know," Pattie says. "But I wouldn't worry, boys. I'm sure Naveen will send out a tweet for you this morning. That's what we're here for."

That's what they're here for. Harry feels his chest tighten.

"I'll guess I'll just send it from —" Liam mutters as he types. "There. From my personal account. Have more followers on that one anyways."

"Your personal one?" Pattie repeats. "The password to that hasn't been changed?"

"Er, no?" Liam says. "How could they? I didn't give anyone my password."

"But PR's supposed to be managing all the contestants' accounts," she says, glancing around at all of them in confusion.

"Why are they changing the passwords, now, anyways?" Zayn asks, anger barely concealed in his voice.

"I told you, to keep our hackers," she says. "You're a lot higher profile this week now that you're in the final. You wouldn't want someone getting into your account and posting something as you, would you? Or leaking your private information? Think how embarrassing that could be."

The other boys glance at Harry and Louis.

Louis looks at Harry and then Pattie, also looking confused. "Do you not have access to our accounts, then?"

"I thought we did," Pattie says.

"Naveen wanted our passwords a few weeks ago," Niall speaks up. "But Harry didn't—"

"I, um," Harry interrupts, well aware of Pattie as well as the PAs and camera crew listening in. "My password was embarrassing, so I didn't want to write it down, remember?"

Louis looks at him without recognition.

"And then I suppose we just never got around to giving them up," Liam says smoothly.

"Right," Louis says after a beat. "I'd forgot about that."

"Well, I recommend you give them up next time you see Naveen," Pattie says. "But for now you all might want to change your passwords to something more secure. Remember that Facebook campaign that was backing Wagner? There's rumors they're going to try to sabotage the Final."

"The ones trying to sabotage the voting," Liam says slowly.

"Right."

Harry glances at Louis, who for all his usual quickness, still seems to be processing this.

Outside the bus windows, a light flurry of snow is falling around where they're backed up on the motorway. Harry reaches out to Louis' hands, where they're clenched into fists in his lap.

Louis tenses for a split second and then his hand relaxes a little under his touch, unclenching his fists at the touch. Over the backs of his fingers, Harry traces the ghost of tattoos, "2" and "8".

He gently pushes up the sleeve of Louis' coat, and hoodie beneath it. He blinks down at the smooth skin of his arm. The 'please be loud' is fully faded now. He bites his lip and gently traces over the ghost of another tattoo, the compass he'd drawn on this same skin last week.

Louis still looks so young from certain angles, but when Harry meets his blue eyes, there's too much regret in them for an eighteen-year-old boy and a deep and old sadness in the hollows surrounding them.

The fragile spark of hope he'd seen peeking out the past few days isn't shining there.

But it's there. It has to still be there somewhere.

Harry bites his cold-dry lips and tucks the sleeve back down to cover Louis' arm.

 

 

Harry remembers on this day, eight years ago, that Louis had loved coming back to his old school. Seeing all his mates, the excitement, the cheers, singing on the same stage where he'd starred in a school production of Grease, this time as a newly minted reality popstar.

This time, Harry watches Louis' eyes flick over the crowd of students waiting outside with a stoic expression on his face.

As their handlers guide them into the corridor of queued-up students and local newspaper cameras, Harry watches Louis put on a pretend smile with what is likely also pretend recognition at most of the teenagers who are cheering at him.

Liam is waving and smiling, ever the professional. Harry can tell Niall's making a good show of pasting a smile over his dour mood, but Zayn is just looking moodily over the crowd.

Harry is pretty sure he himself isn't doing much better than Zayn at faking enthusiasm.

As he looks over Louis' former schoolmates, so far he hasn't found anyone he recognizes. For a moment of petty and misplaced jealousy, Harry wonders if any of them are the boy Louis spent year eleven exchanging handjobs with.

Then he wonders if anyone in this corridor were ones who called him names and he sets his jaw. He knows Louis had his fair share of that after One Direction was formed, more than Harry ever did. But the thought that it had happened so much earlier—

And then he catches Louis looking at him, a question on his face. Harry just shakes his head. Louis looks like he wants to ask him what's wrong, but then the PAs are ushering them further down the corridor.

Harry catches what looks like a flash of a genuine smile on Louis' face and sees the boys who got his attention — very young versions of Stan and Cal and Oli.

He's about to approach and say hi as well but then he hears a boy behind him saying, "Always knew he was a f—."

Harry freezes, turns around. He doesn't recognize the boy, but he looks younger than Louis, maybe Harry's own age.

The boy next to the one who spoke laughs and says, "Come on, he was kidding, remember? You know what he was like with the pranks."

"Wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't a joke," the first boy says. "You know what Heather's brother said about him."

The boys suddenly catch sight of Harry and there must be something in his soft sixteen-year-old face that makes them both still. Harry meets their eyes steadily. They're just kids, just stupid kids in half-untucked uniform shirts and ties. He's debating whether to approach them or not, trying to figure out in his mind what he should say, when he catches Zayn beside him, with a clenched jaw and dark eyes that tell Harry he'd heard what they said too — but then they're both caught up by the PAs and pushed through the crowd again.

Not much longer and Harry finds himself in the makeshift backstage. The yellow plaster on the walls is chipped, there are some moth-eaten costumes scattered on hangers, and it smells vaguely of cheese sandwiches and stale melted snow. There's the muted roar of an auditorium full of students behind the dusty curtains, and on the stage their crew is setting up sound equipment.

His eyes catch again on Louis, being filmed by the X Factor camera crew catching up with his schoolmates. Harry is about to go over yet again but then he feels a tap on his shoulder.

When he turns around, he feels his eyes widen as he takes in the woman with pretty straight brown hair and heart-shaped cheeks.

"Hello, Harold," she says, blue eyes sparkling.

"Not my name," he says automatically.

Her lips twitch in a cheeky smile. Even now she's still inches shorter than him, but as usual has no trouble manhandling him into a tight hug.

At least Harry doesn't have to slouch quite as much as he's used to in order to rest his head on her shoulder.

"I missed you, ma—" he stops himself and corrects to, "Jay."

After a long moment, she pulls back and takes him in.

"Harry Edward Styles," she says.

"Yeah, that one is my name," he tells her.

She watches him for another moment and then he follows her gaze over to where Louis is standing with his schoolmates. The way he's standing, legs parted, shoulders back and straight, chin angled up. He's not large or tall, not even amongst a group of schoolboys, but there's that power to his presence that seems to draw everyone's eyes to him.

Harry's attention is caught once again by Louis' mother. Something seems out of place and it takes him a moment to realize what it is. Normally she'd be running over to greet Louis, wrapping him in hugs or kisses without a worry to what she's interrupting or what cameras might be on them.

Hanging back like this, watching from afar, isn't any more like her than it is like her son.

He turns back to her, lips parted in a question he's not sure how to phrase.

"Darling, just think if you hadn't weed on my boy those months ago, we might not be standing here today," Jay says with a smile.

Harry barks out a startled laugh. "I still can't believe he told you that." Except he can believe it, because he's been teased about that more than once in the future.

She shakes her head and when she looks over at Louis again, she looks a little sad. "Look at that boy. Was prepared to ream him out today for trying to pull such a ludicrous prank on his poor mum."

Harry feels his stomach drop. He hadn't thought Jay of all people wouldn't believe them.

"It wasn't a prank, I promise," Harry insists. "I'm gay and Louis—"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Not the prank I'm talking about."

He suddenly feels her poke at his cheek and he can't help but smile.

"Look at you, boy," she says, shaking her head. "If I hadn't realized that my boy was gay by the third night he'd kept me up late complaining about these dimples, I'd be a poor excuse for an unobservant mum, wouldn't I?"

"Oh," Harry says. He bites his lip.

"No, that I didn't doubt," she says, and turns back to look at the group where Louis is, expression sobering again. "The other I — well, seeing 'im now, it's obvious that's not my eighteen-year-old son over there, is it?

Harry stares at her.

It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn't know what Louis has told her. 

He just assumed he wouldn't have told her he was from the future. If he had, he would've enlisted all their help, wouldn't he have? It had taken a major group effort and the better part of a day to convince Harry's mother.

But Jay Tomlinson turns familiar blue eyes back to Harry and says, "Tell me, Harry, what's so bad about 2018 that you both decided to come back to this bloody cold winter?"

 

 

On the bus from Doncaster to Bradford, Harry pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, staring down at his phone. He's returned the texts from Gemma and his mother, and added Jay to their chat. And now he's had a chance to check twitter, he finds he'd hardly had any response to his tweet from earlier. His follower count is only in the tens of thousands, but, really, it should be better than this. He decides to send another one.

 

 

At the signing at the HMV, a teenager comes up to their table, hands fisted at her sides, close-cropped hair, rainbow dye in her fringe.

"What would you like me to sign?" Harry asks after the teenager doesn't move for a long moment.

"Nothing," she spits out.

"Nothing?"

She takes a deep breath. "You fucking sicken me, all of you lot."

Harry stills.

"Love—" Louis starts to say next to him.

"No. This isn't funny," she says, folding skinny arms in a big puffy coat over her chest. "Your apology isn't accepted. That's all what I wanted to say."

After she storms off, Liam looks at him, mouthing "Apology?"

"Well, I didn't really get the joke," one of the two girls who come up to the table behind her says as she sets down her copy of the X Factor charity single for them to sign. "But you did apologize, that's what counts."

"Right," Louis repeats faintly. "That's the thing that counts."

 

 

One Direction @onedirection 8 Dec 2010  
We're sorry for our prank last weekend being taken too far. We apologize for anyone we offended.

 

 

Harry wants to cry but it comes out as a laugh instead.

"Sorry, it's just..." He trails off as he looks up at the others in the bus, the PAs and camera crew around them.

He lets Louis take his phone when he reaches for it. And watches him nod slowly.

"We knew this would be here," Louis says quietly.

But he doesn't need to add that knowing it was going to happen and actually see the words that were put into their mouths are two separate things.

 

 

"We're not giving up," Harry says. "We're going to fight this."

"Harry," Louis says. Harry doesn't miss the concerned look Jay shoots him at the tiredness in his voice.

"No." Harry lets his half-eaten slice of pizza plop onto his plate and he stands up. "Simon doesn't get to win this time."

They're huddled in one of the two cheap hotel rooms they have reserved outside of Manchester for the night. Next to the door is a pile of duffel bags and suitcases. Harry's diary is still in Louis' bag and he knows Louis hasn't opened and read it yet. He's been watching and waiting.

Harry's mother and Jay are sitting on the edge of one of the beds. Louis is sitting next to Jay, arm rested on her shoulder. Gemma and Liam are on the floor next to where Harry had been sitting. There's a small table. Niall's half is where the mostly empty pizza boxes are, and Zayn has Harry's laptop open on the other half.

"I was thinking," Gemma says. "I looked over the family member contracts they made us all sign. They have the parts about not being sued for libel and revealing inner workings of The X Factor, but they don't have the parts about your images. Which means we can say anything we want to, right?"

Harry glances over at Louis, who shrugs.

"I suppose so," he says.

"I already emailed Sugarscape," Gemma says. "If they'll do an interview with me, I can say you're gay. Could tell the Valentine's story or something."

Harry can't help a groan. "Not the Valentine's story."

"Oh, that would be perfect!" Anne says, clapping her hands together.

"That is a good story," Louis says. His lips twitch into the first hint of a smile Harry's seen from him in a while. 

"Not you, too," Harry says, but can't help return the smile.

"Are you talking about Harry's Valentine's Day kiss?" Liam asks. "But how do you know it, Louis? You forgot everything about those weeks when Gemma told us."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Was with this lad for five years, you think I wouldn't know the story down to his favorite purple glitter pen?"

A silence breaks over the room. Harry bites his lip.

There's a rustle and then the sound of Niall munching on a new slice of pizza. 

"Anne and I could make a film," Jay speaks up finally.

"About the boys?" Anne asks next to her.

"I've seen people do those on twitter, what do they call them?" Jay asks. "Twitcams? We'll do one together."

"You don't have to—" Louis starts, but then Jay smacks him.

"Don't be an idiot, boy," she tells him. "Of course I have to do something."

"And people would have to believe us. What mothers would lie about their own children?" Anne says.

Harry meets Louis' eyes across the room and recognizes the guilt that flashes across them. He knows that Louis is also thinking about the years that they made their families lie about them being straight, having girlfriends, taking photos of girls in them at family birthdays, holidays, weddings.

"That sounds good. I think. But, you guys, Louis was right the other day." Harry stops pacing and turns around to look at everyone. "We have to get as far from Syco and Simon as possible."

"No shit, that was fucking scary this morning," Niall says.

"What will that cost all of you, though?" Gemma asks. Harry had gone over with her over the past week all they'd talked about with their contracts and Modest and Syco. So she knows as well as he does.

"Possibly everything," Harry admits as he paces across the floor. His hands are fisted in his hoodie pocket, nails digging into his palms. "But I can't just sit here and watch this all happen all over again."

"I'm in," Niall says.

"You know we're all in, Harry," Liam says. Harry glances at Zayn, who raises his eyebrows as if to say 'obviously'.

Louis is watching him carefully from across the room.

"I don't want to fucking play nice with these arseholes," Zayn says, pushing the laptop away from him on the table. "Let's show everyone but Simon is really like."

"What do you mean?" Liam asks.

"We have enough to make him look bad," Zayn says. "The microphones—"

"The auto-tuning, the contest fixing," Liam says slowly.

"How everything's scripted, down to our granddad's fucking funerals," Zayn spits out.

Harry can see the two mothers in the room visibly biting themselves back from correcting his language.

"Wait, but talking about these things really is going to get you a lawsuit, though," Gemma says. "Which would mean more than just ending your careers."

"I think Gemma's right," Harry's mother says, shaking her head regretfully. "That's the one common thing in all these contracts is not revealing secrets about The X Factor or saying anything about it."

"Or Simon Cowell, it says that specifically," Gemma says.

"No, it doesn't," Louis says.

"No, I'm sure it does," Gemma insists.

"Fine, it does _say_ that," Louis says. "But that doesn't mean it's real."

Gemma frowns at him. "Are you sure?"

"Even James Corden's lawyer mentioned it, though," Liam says. "And he didn't say there was anything wrong with it. Did you go over that with the lawyers you talked to?"

"Not that part, I didn't," Louis says. He unfolds himself from the bed next to his mother and stands up. "But, honestly, it doesn't really matter whether it'll hold up in court or not. The important thing is that Simon doesn't believe it would."

There's a moment of confusion in the room.

"Really?" Harry says. He's confused. "How did you know that? Did _we_ know that?"

Louis purses his lips, shaking his head. Finally he says, "Look, been a little closer to Simon lately than I'd prefer. He let a couple of things slip."

"What do you mean, closer to Simon?" Harry asks, not liking the sound of that.

"Look, things aren't going me way, are they?" Louis says. "Wasn't kidding about that bit."

"Okay?" he says.

"So I made a deal with the devil." Louis crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"What deal did you make, boy?" Jay says, half looking like she's teasing, half like she's concerned.

"In exchange for certain obligations being, let's say, forgotten about, was going to join the prestigious ranks of X Factor judges," Louis says.

"You're going to be a judge?" Liam repeats. "One of the real judges? Like Simon and Louis Walsh and Cheryl?"

" _Yes_ , Payno, like one of the real judges."

"Which section are you going to have?" Niall asks. "You're not even that old, are you? Like, twenty-six? Wouldn't it be weird for you to have the over-28s, like, they'd be older than you."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Was still the summer, was just finalizing the deal. And does it even matter? I didn't exactly expect when I left for New York for the weekend that I wouldn't be making my return flight."

"New York?" Harry repeats. "When were you in New York?" Louis' eyes flick to him. He explains, "I was in New York, too, when I met the Traveler."

Louis doesn't answer the question, just shakes his head and says, "Lads, look, you're missing the point. The important thing here is that —"

Harry's phone dings in his pocket.

"Sorry," he mutters as he pulls it out to see the text. He frowns. "Sorry. It's from Nick, he — oh, apparently Simon's going to be on the radio tomorrow." He bites his lip. "On the Breakfast Show."

"So, what?" Louis snorts. "Grimmy just assuring us he's going to play at being a real journalist for once and ask all the hard-hitting questions?"

"Um, it's Chris Moyles, actually, for The Breakfast Show" Harry says, looking up at Louis. "Nick is—"

"Still the late show," Louis finishes for him, looking into the distance. "Right. Of course. Forgot."

Harry watches him for a moment, then is startled when his phone dings again in his hand. He frowns down at it.

"Nick also says to check my twitter replies."

"It's really not fair," Gemma is saying as Harry pulls up his twitter app. "Simon can say anything he wants anywhere he wants. The whole country's going to hear him talk tomorrow."

Harry stills at what he finds. "Shit, Nick really didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Suddenly Louis is next to him and taking his phone. Harry watches as he scrolls through the twitter replies. "Oh. Wanker got his act together, did he?"

"What did he do?" Niall asks.

Liam has his phone out, scrolling through. "He replied to Harry's last tweet with 'by chance is @Harry_Styles trying to come out of the closet?'"

Harry's phone dings again and Louis tilts the phone so he can see the message.

Harry bites his lip, feeling a warmth in him despite everything today. 

"What is it, Harry?" his mother asks.

Harry looks back at her, smiling a little. "Nick thinks it's deplorable that none of the youth of our great country can recognize lyrics from obvious gay anthems and was so moved as to give them a hint."

"By asking if you're trying to come out of the closet," Gemma says.

Harry nods.

"So?" Louis holds his phone back for him to take.

"So, what?"

"Are you trying to come out of the closet?"

"I mean, obviously," Harry says.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "I know it's a direct question, which are your least favorite to answer, but—"

Harry can't help but laugh. "Shut up, Louis."

He meets his sparkling blue eyes.

"I'm going to reply," Harry tells him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry says. He types it in and pushes send. Louis is looking at him with pride shining behind his eyes, which would make it all worth it even if Harry hadn't wanted to do it. 

When Harry pockets his phone again, he notices everyone else's eyes on them.

"So. Um. What were we talking about?" he asks.

"Louis being a judge on The X Factor," Niall says.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Simon not actually suing us for libel."

"So what did you want us to do, though?" Liam asks. "We don't actually have proof of very much."

"We could show them a video," Louis says.

"What video?" Harry asks.

Zayn spins the laptop around on the table so the screen is facing them all.

"How about this video that Louis just made me back up to five different places?"

 

 

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
You said I wasn't your kind.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
We're gonna write our own ticket.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
I want the world to know.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
Rainbows have nothing to hide.

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 8 Dec 2010  
Yes. H

> In reply to: nick grimshaw @grimmers  
> feels like gay night at the discotheque. by chance is @Harry_Styles trying to come out of the closet?


	23. Chapter 23

After saying goodnight to his mother, who needed to drive Gemma back to uni and then get back to Holmes Chapel in time to finish cleaning for the home visit in the morning, Harry steps into the second hotel room.

"Um, hi." Harry shifts his weight inside the doorway as he lets the door shut behind him.

The boys had declared that they were giving "the adults" the second room. Which Harry would have insisted on in any case, to have time to talk to Louis. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how to start making this right.

Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows balanced on his knees and something that looks very much like Harry's diary open in his hands.

Harry drops his bag onto the floor and steps into the room.

Louis looks up at him but his expression is too hard to read in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

"Harry," he says quietly.

"Lou?" Harry stops walking a few feet away.

There's a long moment of silence, of Louis watching him, searchingly. Finally he says, "I don't know if this plan's going to work. Could just be setting Simon up to throw an even bigger strop, make things worse than I already did."

"But you didn't — Lou, why would you think you've made anything _worse_?" Harry asks.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Are you trying to say that Simon wasn't quite a bit friendlier with us this time eight years ago than he was this morning?"

"No, of course he was nicer then," Harry says. "He was recruiting a band of five young boys who didn't know any better. This time, he hasn't been particularly friendly since that first week I put my mic in your hand and started arguing with him over our song choices."

Louis watches him.

"Lou, if things don't work out," Harry starts again cautiously. "If this all backfires, even if it's all your fault — which it won't be — but even if it was, that wouldn't change anything I wrote in there."

"Harry." Louis starts to close Harry's diary and stand up.

"Don't go anywhere. Please." Harry spreads his arms in offering. " _Please_."

Louis regards him for a moment, then settles back down on the edge of the bed.

"Lou," Harry asks. "Do you remember what it was like three years ago?"

Louis' eyes are dark, inscrutable in the dim light of the room.

"Because I do," Harry says. "I remember it so well. It was to the point where every time _I_ breathed wrong, you would be punished for it." He stares at the scuffed carpet on the floor. "Broke m'fucking heart to leave you, was the hardest thing I've ever done. But seeing you keep getting hurt, and knowing that I could stop it if I stopped clinging so hard to you—"

"That's not what happened, Hazza, you knew that," Louis says.

"No, I _didn't_ know that." Harry ruffles his hand through his hair. "The only thing I knew was that you deserved so much better than what you had. You deserved so much more than what I could give you."

"Stop saying deserved. I don't even know what that means, 'deserved'," Louis says. He glances down at the diary in his lap, snaps it shut and stands up. "I'm not a bird. I don't even fucking know what to say to this. Fuck _deserved_ , Harry."

He pushes past to the other side of the small hotel room, pushing the diary into Harry's hands as he passes him. Harry can't do anything but take it, dumbly.

"I'm not a _bird_ ," Louis repeats, spitting out the word. "I don't know what gave you the bloody idea that I—" When he turns around to face Harry again, his eyes are flashing. "Look, I knew I was holding you back, but I needed you and I was too fucking weak to let you go. I really was happy for you when you left, though. I got to watch you be the superstar you were always meant to be. But don't stand there and say I fucking deserved freedom, like it was some sort of reward for me." He gestures pointedly at Harry's diary. "You say I'm the love of your life? Well, Harry, you were the love of _mine_. Living without you was the _price_."

"Louis," Harry says, anguished.

Louis shakes his head. "You know, going on three years and I was still looking through every new picture of you, looking for the rings, telling meself that if you were still wearing them, that it might not be too late. Probably proper pathetic but I didn't care. Just kept telling meself that if I could get me fucking shit together, maybe..."

When Louis doesn't finish his thought, Harry asks, "Maybe what?"

But Louis just shakes his head and leans back against the wall.

"What are you talking about with the rings?" Harry tries.

He catches Louis' eyes dart down to his hands, then away again. But it's another moment before he finally speaks.

"Tattoos," he says, not looking at Harry. "They're hard to remove, aren't they? And not easy to fix up with a new pattern, not ones as big as ours were. But the rings. It'd be easy enough to just forget to put them on one morning, wouldn't it be?"

Harry flexes his bare fingers together and says, "I loved the rings. I loved the tattoos. I would never... I miss them all now." He raises his eyes to meet Louis' intense blue ones from across the room. Then he swallows and confesses, "I bought you a ring."

"I know," Louis says.

"You _knew_?"

Louis shrugs, clearly trying for a casual gesture but missing the mark by a mile. "Had one for you, too." Harry gapes at him. "What? Bought you rings for every other finger, you think I'd have really skipped that one?"

"What? _When_?"

The corner of Louis' mouth lifts into a smile that's more like a grimace. "So fucking long ago, lad. So I started with the others first, figured I'd work me way up."

Harry feels like the ground is opening up underneath him.

"But then I found yours, the one you'd bought," Louis continues. "At first I thought you'd had a plan for some dramatic proposal. Seemed like the sort of thing you'd do." Harry hates the self-deprecating twist of his lips. "I didn't want to ruin it. So I held off on giving you yours and I waited and—"

"And?" Harry asks, dreading the answer.

"Well, you'd changed your mind, obviously," Louis says. "Or maybe you were just waiting until I stopped fucking shit up for the both of us. Either way, it was for the best that—"

"No," Harry stops him, stepping forwards.

Louis pauses.

"I was waiting until you didn't have to take it off, Lou," Harry says, blinking back the new tears in his eyes.

"Until I — what?"

"It seemed cruel to give it to you then, when you'd have had to take it off the second you stepped outside," Harry says. "You — it would've killed you to do that. Don't tell me it wouldn't have. I couldn't do that to you."

Louis meets his eyes, watching him as his lips part to form an 'oh'.

"And, I mean, I'd already given you enough cruel choices to make last time, didn't I?" Harry says, lips twisting a little. "Eleanor—"

"Fuck." Louis' head bangs back against the wall and he stares up at the ceiling. "I never want to hear that fucking name again. Can't even think about her without remembering how heartbroken you were—"

"Lou," Harry tries to stop him.

"Do you know how much I regret ever fucking kissing her?" Louis says, still looking up at the ceiling. "If I'd just fought a little harder—"

"Louis, I do know," Harry interrupts him quietly. "I know exactly how much you regret it. But you know what I regret even more than that?"

"What?" Louis asks tiredly.

"Ever asking you not to."

Louis' eyes snap down to meet his.

"I wasn't as good to you as I should've been, Lou," he entreats. "I was this wide-eyed, naive kid at sixteen and at eighteen I still thought the world was supposed to work like some sort of fairy tale and, fuck, I mean, maybe I _still_ am pretty naive. But you—"

"Love—"

"But _you_ never were," Harry continues fiercely, fists bunching at his sides as he takes a step closer to him. " _You_ never had the chance to be. You deserve so much—"

"Stop using that fucking word, please," Louis says tiredly.

"Right." Harry takes a breath. "You — I just want you to have better than you did. That's why I'm here. That's why I said 'yes' to the eight years. I didn't even hesitate."

"Harry—"

"Do you still need me?" Harry interrupts.

Louis stops, mouth parted, looking like he's feeling betrayed by the question.

"Because I need you," Harry confesses quietly. "I need you and I miss you. And if you wanted to, I want to be with you _so much_."

Louis blinks, blue eyes wide as he stares at him. Harry takes the final step between them and reaches up, touching his cheek with his fingertips.

"I think we could be really good together, Lou," Harry says.

"Of course we'd be good together. We're always bloody good together," Louis says indignantly. He straightens up, brushing Harry's hand off his cheek. He keeps his hand on Harry's for an extra second before dropping it down.

Harry just watches him, waiting.

Louis kicks forwards off the wall, and turns Harry around, lightly pushing him back against it. Then he just looks at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face.

When Louis kisses him, it's the barest press of lips. But behind it is the force of a tidal wave, a dam erected three years ago, suddenly crashing apart.

Harry murmurs his name and wraps his arms around Louis' waist. Louis obliges him by stepping in closer. His hands come up to tangle in Harry's hair and he scratches gently over his scalp as he leans in to kiss him again.

Louis presses his thumbs over the angle of Harry's jaw and Harry parts his mouth, open, pliant for him. Louis deepens the kiss, insistent and teasing and reverent and it's so familiar that Harry finds himself expecting a hint of cigarettes on his tongue.

But he doesn't taste like ashes. He just tastes like Louis, warm, and _home_.

When Louis pulls back, Harry doesn't loosen his arms from his waist, so it's not very far.

But he doesn't seem to mind, just looks at Harry for a long moment, then shakes his head, wonderingly.

"Should see yourself, Hazza. What the fuck."

"Hmm?"

"Look just like you did the moment I first fell in love with you," Louis says.

"Oh." Harry feels his heart lift, buoyant, weightless in his chest. The corner of Louis' mouth curves up in the dim light of the hotel room. Harry strokes his thumbs over his hips and tells him, "You don't, though."

"Don't I?" Louis raises his eyebrows.

Harry shakes his head. "I think it's the hair."

"The hair—" Louis reaches up to finger the spiked disarray on his head. Then he sighs, letting his forehead come to rest on Harry's. "This bloody fucking haircut, mate."

Harry can't help a laugh. When he opens his eyes again, Louis is looking at him. With their foreheads still touching, he can't see more than the blurry blue of his eyes looking back at him, but he doesn't think he's imagining there's more of a sparkle in them than before.

 

 

The next morning, he wakes up in Louis' arms for the first time in days. Wakes up in the arms of Louis who remembers the hundreds, _thousands_ of nights they'd spent together before this.

It's still dark outside and their limbs are tangled, pleasantly warm together under the scratchy hotel duvet and Harry really, really doesn't want to loosen his hold on this boy.

But what wakes them up is the notification from Liam, telling them it's time.

 

 

There's a flash of light, the blur of a room, and then the shot focuses on two smiling faces.

" _Happy Fifteenth Birthday, Sally!_ " Louis gives a thumbs up in front of the camera.

" _Happy Birthday!_ " Zayn joins in.

Harry can make out the background of the waiting area of Simon's office. Zayn's hair is quiffed, Louis' twisted in the expertly disheveled arrays of spikes, better than Harry had ever managed it. They have on the same coats and hoodies they were wearing yesterday morning.

" _Your sister reached out, said you were fans of ours and it was your birthday coming up_ ," Louis says. " _Hope this gets to you on time—_ "

A voice off-screen says, " _Boys, everyone's waiting on you, the meeting's already starting._ "

" _Oh, sorry,_ " Zayn says in his slow drawl. But instead of the video cutting off, the camera view just tilts, falls, as if forgotten.

Harry covers his mouth with his fist as he and the other boys watch the video through one final time before they send it off. He sees the set up of the shot, clearly getting Simon and Robert and Henry and Max in the view. He watches it settle with Liam's head blocking much of the view. It's blurry and at an awkward enough angle that it could still maintain the pretense of being a camera being unintentionally left on. But at the same time it clearly identifies everyone in the room. Even when the view goes dark from the inside of Zayn's pocket after Simon snaps at Zayn to put his phone away, it's still undeniable who is talking.

He bites his thumbnail as Simon talks about covering up their sexuality, as Max brags about closeting footballers, as Simon mentions feeding articles to The Sun, as Simon essentially confesses to turning off Louis' mic.

And so, so much more.

Listens as Louis comes out with seemingly belligerent sarcasm, pretending to be stupid at times, goading them into talking more and more. 

Harry remembers how devastated Louis had looked going up into that Syco building yesterday morning. Remembers when they'd caught their first glimpse around the corner at the identities of the men they were to be meeting with, and how Louis' face had fallen even more before replacing it with a stony mask.

Now, hearing Louis' voice on the video, at times belligerently sarcastic, at times seemingly stupid, and managing to goad the men in the room into talking more and more — well, never let it be said that Louis doesn't know how to fight wounded.

He glances at Louis beside him. His face is shadowed by the hood of his hoodie drawn over his head and his arms wrapped around his chest as he stares at the laptop screen.

Finally, minutes later as he watches the view in the camera goes from the dark of Zayn's pocket to the glare of winter sunshine, then a blurry tilt of view of their bus and then Louis standing next to Zayn.

" _Oh, shit, is this still recording?_ " Zayn asks. Harry, who has known Zayn for years, can easily make out the false ring in his voice. It's the same tone he's heard before in sentences like, 'Of course I didn't know Louis had on my Glass when we lit up that joint' or 'No, my Glass wasn't stolen, I just forgot where I put it'. But at least it seems to have given Louis an idea. 

" _Better delete that,_ " Louis says on the film. " _Remember what Pattie said about those hackers? If this got out, can you imagine?_ "

" _Zayn, Louis, we're waiting on you to get in the bus,_ " comes Pattie's voice from off-screen.

" _Shit and my battery's almost to zero, too,_ " is the last thing that can be heard before it fades to black.

"Are you ready?" Liam asks as he closes the video player on Harry's laptop. The browser tab with their newly-created fake email account is open to a draft message. The video file is attached and it's addressed to jon-xxx, who Liam had emailed back and forth with through the night. Under the subject of 're:hacked xf phone', the last reply visible in the email thread promises that if this is legitimate, they'll post it right after Simon's Breakfast Show interview this morning.

Harry might not have nearly the mind for scheming that Louis does, but he can recognize a good one. It would be impossible to pull this off as being truly accidental. But Louis and Zayn's words give them enough room to deny it out loud in the mainstream press, even if anyone who thinks about it much at all will have difficulty believing it was accidental.

"Lads, this is a massive risk here," Louis says. His hand is fisted in the cuff of his hoodie, knuckles white. "Just because I don't think Simon will sue us doesn't mean that he _won't_. And even if he doesn't, chances are this is going to backfire on all of us."

"But it was your idea," Liam says, frowning.

"Yeah, you're the one who came up with the idea at all," Zayn says, anger leaking into his voice.

"I'm not saying _I_ don't want Payno here to hit send. Just saying, for full disclosure, that I've been known to be a purveyor of shitty ideas at times," Louis says, and mutters, "In case that somehow wasn't already pretty fucking obvious."

Harry reaches to him, runs his hand gently down his arm, through his hoodie. Louis' eyes flick briefly to him, a small widening of surprise at the touch, and then he looks back to the others. "Lads, look, we're going to war with Simon fucking Cowell here."

"You think we're going to lose?" Niall asks.

"I've lost every other possible battle with him, haven't I?" Louis says.

Harry slides his hand down Louis' crossed arms to where his wrist is bare. Louis stills at the touch, then slowly relaxes enough to let Harry slide his hand into his, tangling their fingers together.

"So the choice is being Simon's puppets or going down fighting, is that it?" Zayn demands.

"I want to go down fighting," Harry says, soft but insistent.

"Fuck yes," Niall says feelingly.

Liam clicks over to the other browser tab, which is open the 'Rage Against The X Factor' Facebook group, where jon-xxx is listed as one of the three admins and the follower count listed at 21,348. The pinned comment, now outdated by a couple of weeks since Wagner was voted off, reads, ' _If you hate Simon Cowell and want to piss him off vote Wagner! If you want to help run the X factor into the ground and cause mayhem vote Wagner!_ '.

"If this contest is fixed, how did this campaign even work keeping Wagner in?" Liam asks, twisting around in his seat to look at Louis.

"Reckon they can only tinker with it so much or people will notice and Ofcom will start counting the votes themselves." Louis shrugs. "And bad publicity is as good as good publicity, innit?"

"Except when it comes to saying either of us is gay," Harry murmurs resentfully.

"Yeah, well," Louis says after a pause. He shifts, adjusts his grip on Harry's hand. Harry notices the other boys' eyes catch on the movement, the slight widening of Liam's eyes, raise of Zayn's eyebrow.

"How can that even be true?" Niall is asking. "What Simon's doing, making it seem like this is all a prank—"

"Like we're either homophobes or just daft," Zayn cuts in, resentfully.

"—How can that be better than people thinking some of us are gay?" Niall finishes.

"That's the part of this that doesn't make any sense," Liam admits. "So, Simon thinks we have potential and he's already invested all this effort in us — but if he thinks we're messing things up, why try to make us look worse?"

Harry bites his lip. He can't help but think back on years of asking that same question. Years of being a womanizer, of Louis being an arsehole, of Liam being ignorant, of Zayn being dangerous, of Niall being childish. And think about the huge amounts of money and time and training gone into attempts to keep the public thinking he and Louis were straight.

"Simon honestly believes gay lads have no chance in a boyband," Louis says. "Or in the industry, at all, these days, for that matter." He gives Harry a quick glance. "Managed to convince us of that, too."

"Oh," Niall says.

"Do you think he's wrong?" Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. "Don't reckon I'd know, love." He turns back to the other boys. "But as far as Simon's concerned, there's no way to salvage this if we're gay. And if taking it back makes us look bad, Simon gets his revenge. If it salvages the fans who prefer their music sung only by straight boys, and maybe teaches us a bit of lesson about toeing the line, that's icing. This isn't how he wanted to win, sure, but it's still a win-win for him."

"This is all so fucked up," Zayn mutters.

Harry looks around at all of them. Liam with his square-jaw, floppy Bieber haircut, Niall narrow-faced and crooked-teethed and Zayn smooth-cheeked and carefully quiffed. They're all so young. But at the same time not as young as Harry remembers them being, not as young as they were a few weeks ago.

Liam clicks back over to the browser tab with the email. "Can I do it, then?"

Harry feels a tug on his hand and looks up at Louis. There's a mix of caution and fire behind his blue eyes, a tension in his jaw. He's so different from the boy he'd been a few days ago, giggling into soft kisses, professing such a young, young love to Harry.

"Fecking hell, yes," Niall says.

" _Yes_ ," Zayn says.

Harry squeezes Louis' hand. Louis meets his eyes for a long moment and then tilts his chin up and says, "Well, then, lads, let's fuck some shit up."

 

 

After a stale continental hotel breakfast and being packed back into the bus between the other boys, their PAs and camera crew, Harry scrolls through the blog page, reading about how poor their taste in prank is in this day and age and how vulnerable LGBT rights still are even in the UK and — and Harry's heard it all before, but it still _hurts_.

Even so, he's just about to open the link to another article when Louis steals his phone.

"Hey," he complains.

Louis shakes his head. "Love, you know better than to—"

But he's interrupted by a shush from Niall behind them as Chris Moyles' voice comes in over the radio, introducing his special guest for the morning, Simon Cowell.

" _Thank you for having me,_ " Simon says. " _And, yes, thank you, we're eagerly anticipating the finale this weekend._ "

 

 

" _Who do you see winning this year?_ " Chris Moyles is asking a few minutes later, as their bus pulls off the motorway onto one of the local roads headed towards Holmes Chapel.

There's laughter on the radio.

" _I think the best act will win,_ " Simon says. More laughter. " _No, seriously. It's up to the fans to decide who has The X Factor. But, if I'm being frank, I do think this may be the year that we see a group win the competition for the first time. I've told the One Direction boys since the beginning, if you work hard, if you're clever about it, if you're true to yourselves, you have a real shot here._ "

Chris Moyles says, " _I'm going to ask, because people are talking about it—_ "

" _I know. I know what you're going to say,_ " Simon says. " _If anything, this is as much my fault as their mentor as anything else. It's our job as mentors to put the work in, make our acts into stars. But I was ill last week, so I wasn't available to talk with them when it might have been useful._ "

" _Hardly your fault, though, is it?_ "

" _They're not bad boys by any means,_ " Simon continues. " _They've just been getting a lot of attention, they've been trending on twitter. They've been having quite a lot of fun. And, yes, some of that fun may involve some of the female fans, which may be another topic I need to address with them — and, quite frankly, makes the stunt they pulled last week all the more ludicrous. I know that they're hard workers and I think they need to turn back to the work, to the singing, because that's the important thing here. I told them early this week, I said, you have a lot of young, impressionable fans. You need to be role models._ "

Harry pulls up his legs onto the seat and hugs his arms around his knees. He's starting to feel ill and he can't put all the blame for it on the suddenly bumpy road now that they've turned onto the cobblestoned village high street.

" _It's what I tell people before the auditions,_ " Simon is still talking. " _Be yourself. Be original. Be wacky, if you're wacky. But don't be wacky if you're not. Don't pretend to be something you're not. As I told those boys, be yourselves. People will love you for who you are if you just be yourselves._ "

Ahead of them, Zayn snorts. "Does anyone actually fucking believe anything this guy says?"

"What?" Pattie asks, turning around in her seat with a frown. "Are you talking about Simon?"

As he half-listens to Zayn trying to stammer his way out of her attention, Harry feels Louis' knuckles run up his back, through his hoodie and coat, and he glances up at him. Out the window, they're turning at the lane just past the bakery where he used to work.

As the bus pulls up in front of Harry's house where the front garden is filled with neighbors waiting to greet them, Chris Moyles asks next, " _So what audition has really stuck with you over the years?_ "

 

 

They take footage in the living room, by the stairs, make it look like a house party even though they're not quite doing anything. Robin and Harry's mother tell the boys they're like family now and his mother gives him a smile.

As Harry passes the kitchen, he hears from the radio, " _So the microphones in the earlier show? It was a stunt, too?_ "

And he hears Simon answer with a laugh, " _What else could it possibly have been?_ "

They're outside, then, getting footage in the front garden. They're signing autographs which is rather ridiculously staged when, eight years later, no one in this village was impressed enough with their quirky popstar ex-resident to ask for one when Harry visits.

And then, in a series of events starting with the snow starting to melt into mud and ending with an overexuberant neighborhood dog, Harry and Louis end up in Harry's bedroom, their duffel bags tossed after them, with the instructions to shower until they get all the mud out of their hair.

Harry has flicked on the old clock radio from his teenaged self's bedside table. On Radio 1, Simon is going on about the X Factor winner's single.

Chris Moyles says, " _I think we all remember last year, when for the first time in, what, three years at least? The X Factor winner's single didn't get that number one Christmas spot._ "

" _Yes, yes. I do recall some people working very hard to try to sabotage that, yes,_ " Simon says.

" _Rage Against the X Factor?_ "

" _Yes, well. There are always people out there who will do anything for attention, am I right?_ " Simon says. " _On that note, I do ask that your listeners give my boys a second chance. They're young. They're fun-loving. I honestly don't believe they've meant any harm by the prank, it was just in poor taste._ "

Harry is so busy glaring at his teenaged self's radio that he startles at a touch to his waist.

He looks up at Louis.

"Going to have a shower," Louis says, fingers curving around Harry's hip.

"Right," Harry tells him. He flicks off the radio. "I'll go after you."

"You could—" Louis starts and Harry looks up at him again. "If you want, you could join me."

The words don't make sense at first. By the time comprehension comes to him, Louis has dropped his hand from his waist and taken a step back.

"I thought." Louis shakes his head as he turns away. "Never mind. I was just—"

"I really want to," Harry protests, cutting him off.

"But?" Louis prompts.

"But what?" Harry repeats, confused. "Lou, there's no 'but'."

"There isn't?" 

"Well, we don't have much time, and there are a lot of other people in the house right now and — I mean, if you want there to be a 'but', there probably could be one," Harry says.

" _I_ was the one who brought it up," Louis says indignantly.

It might have been Louis' idea, but it's Harry who takes him by the hands and guides him to duck out of Harry's door and into the bathroom in the hallway.

It's a small bathroom, a shower stall with a handheld shower mount and a half-curtain. He and Gemma had used to share it when they were both living there. And Harry and Louis — well, this wasn't their first time sharing it, either.

He reaches for the zip on Louis' mud-splattered hoodie, drags it slowly down. Louis eyes him, then lets Harry push it off his shoulders. Harry drags his eyes down Louis' chest, and tugs at where his thin t-shirt bunches at his hips.

"Can I—?" Harry asks, licking his lips.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Wasn't exactly planning on a shower with me clothes on, love."

Harry pushes up the t-shirt, even as Louis leans back and switches the showerhead on. Harry strokes up every inch of skin as it's revealed, watches as the soft curve of his side goosepimples under his touch. When Louis turns back to him, Harry pushes his t-shirt the rest of the way off.

Harry takes a deep breath, "Fuck, Lou, you're so gorgeous."

He strokes the pads of his fingers down Louis' side, to where the waistband of his jeans is slung low over his hip.

"You look like you've hardly ever seen me," Louis says, giving him a strange look.

"But I haven't," Harry says. He's had small glimpses these past weeks as Louis' changed, but Louis has unfortunately never shared Harry's propensity for nudity. He traces over the dip of Louis' bare collarbone, where it meets his shoulder. "I haven't seen you in years, Lou."

"But you and him — the other me, younger me," Louis starts.

"Didn't do very much, Lou." Harry bites his lip, meeting Louis' blue eyes in the steam that's starting to build in the bathroom. "I was so awkward, you have no idea." He leans down, presses a soft kiss to the dip between his collarbones. He slides his hands down Louis' bare torso, spreading them over the slight curve of his belly. But then he hesitates before asking, "Can I touch your arse?"

Louis coughs out an incredulous laugh. "Why do you think you need to _ask_ , Hazza?"

"Seems polite," Harry says, smiling as Louis shakes his head fondly.

"Then go for it, darling." Louis rests his hands behind himself on the edge of the vanity basin. "My arse is all yours."

It startles a giggle out of Harry. He tells Louis, "You might regret that."

"Have it on fairly good authority you'll know what to do with it," Louis says dryly.

Harry giggles again and presses a kiss to the corner of Louis' mouth. Then he runs his hands over Louis' hips, teasing at the bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. When he gets to his back, Louis arches his hips up, Harry's hands slide down to his arse, and he squeezes it through the denim of his jeans.

"You feel so good." He tries to slip his hands down inside his jeans, only to find there isn't quite enough room. But then Louis huffs out a laugh and shifts, unbuttoning his own jeans to tug them down. He still has his pants on and Harry slides his hands underneath the waistband to the decadent curve of his arse. Harry groans, digging his fingers into the warm flesh as he buries his face in Louis' neck. He smells a little bit like the mud they're both a bit covered in, but mostly like sunshine. "So good, Lou. Been wanting to touch you for so long, you have no idea."

"You really haven't done much with me, have you?" Louis asks.

"Told you," Harry mumbles as he gives Louis' arse another squeeze, then slides his hands up out of his pants to toy with the waistband. "I was so awkward."

"Why, though, darling?" Louis asks. He reaches for Harry's chin, tilts it up so Harry's looking at him.

"I just — I missed you so much," Harry says. "Was missing you for so long and I wanted you so much."

Louis tilts his head. "But you _know_ how fucking gone for you I was."

"It's just — it was weird, wasn't it?" Harry says. "Like, I was older than you this time, and, I mean, six years isn't a lot. But I also had been with you for so long, you know? I knew so much about you and you didn't remember any of it. I felt so creepy sometimes."

Louis taps him on the chin. "So you were going to deprive poor, horny teenaged me of all your knowledge and expertise?"

"Hey, no," Harry pouts. "But, I mean, what if you were in my shoes?"

"If I was in sixteen-year-old Harry Styles' purple trainers?"

Harry tries not to laugh. "No, you know what I mean. Like, if you were here and I was still sixteen."

Louis regards him.

"That _was_ my first thought, you know, the other morning. That if this was real, that meant you were sixteen," Louis says after a moment. "But then things got weirder than that even. And I reckon you _do_ look young, but you don't look like a _kid_. You still look like the Harry I was with."

"Right," Harry says.

Louis runs a thumb over Harry's lower lip and says, "But if you were actually sixteen — Love, I was worried about taking advantage of you when I was _eighteen_ and you were sixteen. I'd be ten years older than you. It'd be like Cheryl dating Liam _now_."

Harry wrinkles his nose at the comparison. But he understands — and can't help but send a brief pang of mourning to the time-travel combination of twenty-six-year-old Louis Tomlinson and sixteen-year-old Harry Styles who would've had a much more complicated time of it.

But, well. Harry is not sixteen. And he has his hands on Louis' arse, so he can't exactly complain. He slips Louis' pants the rest of the way over his arse, letting them fall to the ground, and then steps back.

He bites his lip, looking him up and down.

Louis is never _not_ curvy, but, minus years of smoking and stress and their management removing junk food from their tour bus faster than the five of them could bring it on, he's a bit curvier now than the last time Harry had seen him. It looks really, really good on him.

His arms are leaner than they will be a few years from now, toned but without the intentional bulk of biceps Louis will never publicly admit that he owes to a gym. His thighs are thicker because eighteen-year-old Louis hasn't learned to worry about the aesthetics of his thighs in skinny jeans, hasn't learned to be careful about playing too much footie before tours and promo season because he bulks up there so easily.

His face is a little softer, cheekbones not quite as prominent. His jaw has only a hint of scruff and there's less hair on his chest and belly.

Also, no tattoos.

Just lovely, smooth skin and that hint of summer tan that will never fully fade.

Harry looks him up and down again, from the delicate line of his collarbones, to the provocative jut of his hipbones, to his cock, gorgeous, and hard, curved up and a bit to the right and flushed and leaking a little and — 

Harry licks his lips. He's about to reach for it, when he feels Louis tug at him by his hoodie. He stumbles forwards into him and looks up at Louis' light eyes, which are sparkling in amusement.

"Hi, darling," Louis says, a fond curve of his lips. "You back with us now?"

"Sorry, I just—" Harry trails off.

Louis reaches down, brushes his hands over Harry's cock through his jeans and squeezes.

"Fuck," Harry grunts out.

"Hmm," Louis says. He plays his fingers, tracing Harry's cock through the denim. "Like me teenaged body, then?"

"Love you at any age," Harry corrects him, unconcerned. "And you're hard, too, babe."

"Course I am," Louis says easily. He grabs at the hem of Harry's hoodie and lifts it and his t-shirt underneath up over Harry's head. "Always up for it with you, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you are," Harry says, smiling softly. He presses a closed-mouth kiss to Louis' lips as he helps Louis divest him of his own jeans and steps out of them. And then they're naked together in the steam of the bathroom.

Harry reaches down for Louis' cock again but this time he's stopped by Louis pushing him backwards, gently, directing them both under the shower. 

The hot beads of water hit Harry's back and Louis' hand comes around to cup his head and tip it back to angle his hair under the stream of hot water. Harry closes his eyes and then Louis is kissing him, gentle but persuasive, and his mouth falls open, yielding easily for him.

"Fucking stunning, H," Louis murmurs as he pulls away for a brief moment. Harry starts to make a noise of protest but Louis quiets him, squirts some of Harry's leftover teenaged shampoo onto his hands and then scrubs it through his scalp.

"Lou," Harry murmurs, kissing him. He grabs for Louis' waist, skin slick and wet, and pulls him closer. He rubs his cock against the side of Louis' hip, thrusts gently because he can't help himself.

Once Louis has apparently deemed Harry's hair soaped up adequately, his hands drift down his back, to squeeze at his arse cheeks.

"Yeah, fucking stunning at any age," Louis murmurs, and circles a finger around his hole.

" _Louis_ ," Harry groans out. "Will you fuck me?"

Louis presses his finger against his hole, adding a tiny bit of pressure, but doesn't slip it inside. "Do you have stuff here?"

Harry thinks. He doesn't actually know. He certainly doesn't have anything in his duffel. Being sixteen and on a reality television series, means it isn't quite that easy to procure decent lube. But he glances around. Over the years, they've had enough spontaneous or high or drunk or just desperately horny sex in enough ill-advised places.

"There's conditioner," Harry offers, tilting his head towards it.

Louis looks at it, then abruptly back at him.

"Shit, Haz, sorry, what am I even fucking thinking," Louis says as he pulls his finger away from where he's teasing at Harry's hole. "We hardly have any time, I'm not letting your first time be a quickie in a shower without proper lube."

"Lou, this is definitely _not_ my first time," Harry insists.

"I know, I know," Louis says, and presses soothing kisses to his lips. "First time in this body, though, innit? Want to do it proper." Then he laughs a little and bites at Harry's lip. "Stop pouting, darling. I'm sorry." 

He kisses him as he reaches down and takes Harry's cock in his hand, pumps a couple of times, casually, but expertly, because he has apparently not forgotten any of how Harry likes being jerked off, all down to the little twist at the end. 

After a few strokes, Harry has to turn his head away from Louis' kiss to catch his breath.

"You're already so close, aren't you, darling?" Louis asks, keeping up the sure and steady tugs at his cock.

Harry gives a shaky nod. He splays a hand on the wet tile next to himself for support, balances the other hand on Louis' shoulder.

"How do you want it?" Louis asks. "Want it like this? Or you want my mouth?" He presses a kiss to the angle of Harry's jaw. "Want to fuck my thighs?"

The shower is still raining over them. Harry opens his eyes, sees Louis, hair dripping, flat against his head, eyes, light blue eye and lips parted.

"Yes," Harry says, hoarse. "All of it. I want everything. I want you, Lou."

"You have me, darling," Louis says. He presses a kiss down Harry's neck. And he's obviously used to Harry having a bit more stamina than this, even this far gone, because otherwise he'd be backing off. 

"I need _you_ ," Harry says. "Need you so much."

"I know, love," Louis says. "I need you, too."

Harry blinks, a sudden lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry, Lou."

Louis shushes him, kissing him softly in the stream of the shower. "I'm sorry, too." He kisses him again. "I love you, darling."

 

 

"Lou, wait. I need to say something." Harry stops Louis with a hand on his elbow before they leave his room to go downstairs — newly clean with dried hair and clothes that aren't covered in mud.

"Okay?" Louis says, turning around.

"Um, so yesterday morning?" he says. "You said you thought that we could get it right this time."

Louis' brow furrows. "You don't think we can?"

"I mean, I don't know. I just don't care if we do," Harry says.

"You don't care," Louis repeats.

Harry pauses. "No, of course I care. I really want that. I really want to get it right with you."

"Then...?"

"Lou, I'm saying that I—" Harry twists the hem of Louis' t-shirt between his fingers. "Look. Even if we get it all wrong, I still want _you_."

Louis looks at him.

"No matter what, I still want this with you."

"H," Louis starts.

"You don't have to say anything," Harry says. "Just. Know that. Remember that. Alright?"

 

 

The Radio 1 interview is long over but the video they sent over early that morning still isn't posted by the time they leave Holmes Chapel. It's also not posted by the time they pass Madeley, no matter how many times they refresh the Rage Against The X Factor Facebook page. Or by the time they stop for petrol outside Stafford.

Harry is starting to worry that posting this video may be something that he and Louis can't change in the past.

But then it's mid-afternoon and they're turning into the center of town and an innocuous little link appears on the Facebook group.

It's three-and-a-half hours and a chilly, if no longer snowy, outdoor concert later that they see the first reactions posted online.

It's more hours later and back at The X Factor house and it's wide-eyed stares from the other three contestants.

It's Friday morning and it's waking up to a world that's brand new.


	24. Chapter 24

Liam @LiamPayne 9 Dec 2010  
thanks to everyone who came t othe gig

zayn @zaynmalik 9 Dec 2010  
sorry for hack

> Replying to @marybpaul1995  
> what is this video??? is this for real???

zayn @zaynmalik 9 Dec 2010  
changed my passcode now :) x

Liam @LiamPayne 9 Dec 2010  
we think our 1d account may have been hack ed too. can't even get i n it

Liam @LiamPayne 9 Dec 2010  
sorry we're trying to get it fixed

Liam @LiamPayne 9 Dec 2010  
no i dont think so are yo u hacked @Harry_Styles?

> Replying to @rtwist007  
> is harry hacked too? his last post was weird

Harry Styles @Harry_Styles 9 Dec 2010  
No. I'm me. H

Liam @LiamPayne 9 Dec 2010  
we're bac k in

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
we're back in

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
were still working on getting account back in order

> Replying to @rainbowlolly  
> why was your apology deleted?

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
thank you for the opportunity to set the record straight

> Replying to @Bandid223  
> what does that mean? was it a prank or not?

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
out sincerest apologies to anyone our prank may have offended.

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
silly string is not a joking matter. sorry about the dressing room @radioleary https://twitpic.com/eiwwy0

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
???? don't know what you're talking about then

> Replying to @AnnHawk3  
> you know that's not the prank people are asking about right? nice touch with dermot's mirror tho

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
oh right. the cling film on the first flr toilet. our sincerest apologies @MattCardle

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
oops

> Replying to Matt Cardle @MattCardle  
> What??? You promised that wasn't you. Shocked and betrayed. :(

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
oh

> Replying to @TrulyMule97  
> that's not it either tho

One Direction @onedirection 9 Dec 2010  
we will never apologize for walrus harry, he was adorable. http://yfrog.com/qg0z8

 

 

Johannah Tomlinson @JohannahDarling 9 Dec 2010  
Don't believe what you read. Love you my darling xxx http://twitpic.com/v6mz74 #proudmum #microphonegate

 

 

Harry pads down the hallway, arms clutching the brown duvet over his bare shoulders. The house is still quite quiet and early morning light peeks in through the windows he passes. 

Last night, he'd found Louis in his bottom bunk and he'd hesitated only a moment before slipping under the duvet beside him. When Harry had asked if it was all right, Louis had kissed him as an answer. Harry had fallen asleep to gentle touches over his bare skin, and quiet kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders.

This morning he'd woken alone to a chill in the air, because the snow might have melted but London is still not _warm_ , and a bed without Louis wasn't as warm as a bad with Louis in it.

Outside the door to the workout room, he can hear Liam's bare hint of a Brummie accent and Louis' raspier higher voice, his Yorkshire 't's. He rubs sleep-blurry eyes, covers his mouth for a yawn and pushes the door open.

They're sitting on the weight bench, papers spread between them. Liam is in a t-shirt and shorts, looking like he may have actually come to use the room for its intended purpose. 

Louis is in a hoodie and rumpled trackies, beanie tugged down over his hair and his blue eyes are somehow both sharp and soft as he looks up at Harry.

Harry walks over to the bench to peer at the papers. "Which song are you working on?"

Louis scoots back and spreads his legs to make room for Harry to sit between them. Harry sinks down in front of him and Louis tucks the duvet around him, resting his arms around his waist. 

Harry recognizes the tabs for Grenade, scribbled notes from both of them all over it.

As he looks it over, he murmurs, "You stole my boy."

"Oh, um. Sorry?"

Harry glances up at Liam, who's looking a bit awkward.

"Don't think he was talking to you, lad." Louis squeeze his arms around Harry's waist.

Harry twists to look back at Louis. "Liam was mine first."

"Excuse you," Louis says. "But I claimed him years ago."

"But then I traveled back in time and got to him before you did," Harry says. He plucks the pen from Louis' hand and scribbles a note on Zayn's bridge, between Louis' scrawl and Liam's tidier letters.

When he catches sight of Liam's face again, his cheeks are flushed and he's looking somewhere between surprised and pleased.

 

 

After Liam heads off to shower, Harry and Louis finish talking about Louis' ideas for Forever Young. When they come to a pause, Harry sets down the paper and twists around on the weight bench so he's facing Louis, adjusting the duvet over his bare shoulders.

Louis is soft in the morning light, soft in his beanie with his fringe peeking out.

Harry reaches up to trace the line of his cheekbones with his fingers. Louis just watches him.

 

 

The video of the meeting in Simon's office was removed not long after it was posted. But it had been posted long enough that it's now uploaded in enough other places that it's never going to disappear.

Liam has found some threads on the Digital Spy forums about it and there are some discussions on twitter, but none of the major news outlets has written anything. And they also haven't heard from Simon or anyone else from The X Factor. Matt and Rebecca had started to ask them about the video this morning when they'd all been interrupted by the car coming to collect the boys to record their winner's single.

They walk into the Syco building to stares from the assistants at the front desk, stares from the assistant leading them to the recording booth and then more stares from Sandeep.

Hilde is the only one so far today who seems oblivious to whatever else might be going on, and when Sandeep doesn't say anything, she just begins leading them through vocal warm-ups.

Sandeep eventually clears his throat and says they should get started.

"Um, Louis? Do you want to get in closer?" Sandeep said, his voice coming through the headphones. Louis has just finished arranging them in front of the mic. Then directed Zayn closest, then Liam and Niall to his sides, then Harry, then Louis a step further away.

Louis just raises his eyebrows at the window behind which Sandeep and Hilde and one of the sound techs are sitting.

It's not that Louis doesn't know how to control his volume; he's had years of practice, after all. But Harry knows he sings best when he's relaxed and not focused on holding back.

After a moment where Louis doesn't make any move to comply, Sandeep finally says, "All right. Let's give it a try, then."

Louis doesn't quite take over the way Harry is sure he could, and only partly because he's stepped back so he doesn't come through too loud over the other boys. 

"Sounds good boys," is all Sandeep says when they're through. "Now let's try one with—"

"Let's at least have a listen," Louis says.

Which is how they end up crowded back into tech part the recording booth. Louis pushes Sandeep aside at the computer and, as he plays it back, murmurs compliments and suggestions to each of the boys on their parts. Then he tweaks the balance with the sound tech, gives Sandeep a list of which solo tracks were highest priority for them to record individually and how to mix them in.

"What do you think, Harry?" Sandeep asks at one point, still looking taken aback by Louis today.

"I agree with Louis," Harry says.

"You... agree," Sandeep repeats slowly. "You usually have a few more opinions than that."

Niall laughs. "Yeah, you usually do."

"Louis knows what he's doing." Harry shrugs.

Louis glances back at him from where he's bent over the mixing board with the sound tech and Harry offers him a smile. Louis at eighteen still had a tendency to take the lead. But he hadn't had quite the confidence or easy competence he has this morning.

Maybe Harry should be contributing more but he is mostly just enjoying watching.

With how carefully Louis has tried to imitate his own singing — going over the over the songs from the past weeks, carefully matching the way his eighteen-year-old self had sung them — he hasn't been careful at all in acting like his younger self would act.

Or maybe he simply doesn't actually realize just how different he is.

 

 

"Maybe a wink to the crowd in the middle of your verse," Harry suggests to Niall. He hands Louis a Dr Pepper, passes Niall a bag of crisps and then sinks down next to him with his water and a banana. Across the practice room Hilde is working with Zayn on his verse to Grenade.

While Sandeep has brought them to record one-by-one in the sound booth, the rest of them have gathered in one of the practice rooms down the hall.

"Where?" Niall asks, holding out his music sheet. " _After mad woman, bad woman_?"

"Maybe after ' _tell the devil I said hey when you get back to where you're from_ '," Harry says.

"I like that." Louis leans against the piano as he pops open his drink. "You might be frustrated this woman doesn't care about you, but 'I'd catch a grenade for you' isn't past tense. There's affection there, isn't there? Words are harsh but they could be more playful than resentful."

"Yeah, resentment isn't really our brand," Harry says, leaning back against the piano leg.

"No." Louis looks down at Harry. There's tension at the edges of his light blue eyes, but a softness in his voice when he adds, more quietly, "It's really not, is it?"

"Still so weird to hear you guys talk so much about brands like we belong on some Tesco shelf," Niall says, crunching on a crisp.

"Um, yeah." Harry forcibly tears his eyes away from Louis and back to Niall. "I mean, there's loads of people out there who can carry a tune. It takes a lot more than that to make it."

"Yeah, you—" Niall starts.

"Wait." Louis says. But his eyes are on Zayn and Hilde across the room, not on Harry and Niall. He sets down his Dr Pepper on top of the piano and strides across the room, interrupting Zayn and Hilde. "Malik, not quite like that."

"Then like _what_?" Zayn demands, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because it's all sounding the same to me anymore."

He's been getting more defensive the longer he's worked with Hilde on this verse and not been able to get it right.

Louis is still a bit less than warm with Zayn, but they seem to have come to some tentative kind of truce after working together the last two days on the leaked video.

"Pretend you're feeling the emotion here, lad. Set it up, then drop it off at the end," Louis tells him. He points to the music sheet Hilde is holding. "Like this, lad."

Louis demonstrates the bridge, from ' _I would go through all this pain_ ' to ' _But you won't do the same_ '.

The room is silent.

Louis gives Harry a confused look from across the room. Harry nods at him. "Yeah, I like that. Zayn, you could try it like that."

There's another moment of silence, finally broken by a throat clearing from the door to the practice room.

"Since when can you sing like that, Louis?"

Harry glances over at where Liam and Sandeep must have just returned from recording Liam's portion of their single.

"Um, I think he's been practicing?" Liam offers finally.

"He's been practicing quite hard," Hilde affirms blithely. "Remember, just last week Harry said Louis could hit those notes if he worked on it?"

Louis gives Harry a look and Harry tries to suppress a smile.

"Maybe you should just do it, then," Zayn says finally.

"It'll be better in your voice." Louis hands the music back to Zayn. "Give it a go, then."

 

 

"I'm really proud of those boys."

All morning at Syco, Harry had been waiting for them to be summoned upstairs into Simon's office, but it hadn't happened. And now The X Factor van has brought them back to Fountain Studios for sound check and more promo photos.

They're walking to the main auditorium when they hear Cheryl's voice from an open doorway.

Harry pauses and peers inside the interview room where she's filming a segment.

"I only had a week to work with them, but there is something special about them," Cheryl is saying. "Coming out like that — it was very brave. I think they'll find nothing but support from us."

Her hair is perfectly styled, lashes long and dark as she peers out from under them to look into the camera. 

"What the hell," Zayn whispers behind Harry. Harry glances around at the other boys. Louis is frowning, Niall is wide-eyed surprise and Liam is smiling.

"I knew Cheryl would—" Liam starts, but cuts himself off when the cameraman starts talking.

"Perfect, and you looked quite beautiful, too," the cameraman tells Cheryl, pushing a few buttons on the side of the camera. No one has seemed to notice the boys there in the hallway. "Now let's do the other one now."

She nods. Her stylist comes up, rearranges her dark red curls over her shoulder. Then she looks back into the camera.

When the cameraman gives her the signal, she says, "I think they're very sorry. I think our record shows that we are nothing but supportive of our LGBT contestants on this show. I was so proud of Joe McElderry last year as his mentor. A prank like this is in poor taste. But Simon's boys are just a bit misguided but they're not bad boys. I'm sure it will lose them some votes this weekend. I have no doubt they've learned their lesson."

"What the—" Niall starts, a little bit too loud. Louis grips his arms and drags him down the hall. 

Once they're well past the open interview room door, Zayn hisses, "What _was_ that?"

Liam looks confused and crestfallen.

Louis meets Harry's eyes and shrugs.

"That, lads," he says to the rest of them. "Is the music industry."

"No," Harry says quietly. "That's us having a chance in the music industry."

Louis looks at him carefully for a long moment, then says, "Depends which version they air, I suppose."

"You honestly think Simon's going to let them air that first one on his show?" Zayn demands.

Louis shakes his head. "Don't know. Simon might've invented this fucking game, but he's not the only player."

Harry squeezes his arm and then they suddenly hear a "Hello, boys!" from behind them.

As Konnie and her own camera crew approach them, Louis gently but quickly extracts his arm from Harry's grip and takes a careful step away.

Harry catches Niall glancing between them, a crease in his brow.

 

 

Soundcheck drags on for quite a while, especially for only three songs. They don't even go over their fourth because Robbie Williams won't be coming by until the next day.

Some of the fault for it taking longer is Brian insisting on choreography that, while not too complex, and not quite dancing, is still more complicated than standing in place in front of their mics.

The rest of the blame, however, definitely falls to Louis. When it turns out they aren't filming them — "You're recording every other fucking thing in this building, but not the one thing that might actually be helpful?" — and they don't have proper in-ears — "I seriously thought you were kidding about how shit these were" — Louis keeps trying to jump down off the stage so he can see what they look and sound like.

But Louis isn't Harry Styles from a week ago and so isn't on a sniffly vocal rest and only allowed to bundle up in one of the judges' chairs and watch the sound check. He's a member of the band who has solos in every song and integral parts of the choruses, he ends up being more disruptive than anything.

Seeing as Simon isn't there, it's up to Brian and Sandeep to get him to stay put.

And, well. Simon isn't there. Harry doesn't even know what that means.

Eventually they're stopped when two assistants show up to get them ready for the press photos.

Sandeep asserts that they were almost finished, anyways, but Louis refuses to leave until they're promised more time on-stage this weekend before the shows.

 

 

Harry halts in the doorway, making Niall run into him from behind.

"Aren't you going in, then?" Niall says, laughing as Harry mumbles an apology.

Harry shakes his head and turns around. He meets Louis' eyes and then tugs the other boys to the side of the hallway.

After the photos, the assistants directed them to the Xtra Factor studio join the other contestants for an interview. But what Harry had caught a glimpse of inside wasn't an interview. That was —

"This is a press conference," Harry hisses.

"What?" Liam asks with a frown.

"This isn't an interview." Harry stops and looks at Louis again. "This is a proper press conference. What's going on?"

"Who's in there, then?" Louis asks.

"A lot of people. I don't know," Harry says. He hadn't had more than a quick glance but the stands of the Xtra Factor studio were filled with journalists and news cameras.

"What's the big deal?" Zayn asks, leaning against the wall.

"Do you not remember this from before?" Liam asks.

"The days all run together, don't they?" Louis says. He looks at Harry for a long moment. "Now that we're talking about it, I think I recall it. The press conference ahead of the final? Coached us quite a bit, didn't they, on our talking points?"

Harry does have some memory of that, now that Louis says it. They'd wanted Harry's front and center since they'd started pushing him quite hard by the end of The X Factor as the band's frontman. At the same time, they also didn't quite trust Harry not to stumble over his words or ramble or say entirely the wrong thing. 

He says to Louis, "They wanted me to speak, but they didn't want me to ramble on, so they sat you next to me to take over if I started to say the wrong thing."

Louis looks at him thoughtfully.

"But no one's coached us at all," Liam says. "We were about to walk inside thinking it was just like any other interview."

"That's not a coincidence is it?" Zayn says dryly.

"Unlikely." Louis still hasn't taken his eyes off Harry. "Alright, here's what's going to happen. Haz and I here will be in the front like before. You lads put in an answer or two if it's an easy one, but anything complicated, leave to us."

"Louis," Harry says. "Liam might be better with you. I'm honestly not any better at lying now than I was eight years ago. Do you have any idea how many questions they have to blacklist from my solo interviews?"

Louis actually smiles a little at that, shaking his head. "I can only imagine, love. But this is different."

"If anything, it's more important," Harry insists. A quick glance at the room had meant that Harry recognized a couple of gossip rags, at least one teen magazine, an ITV news programme. But he also recognized at least one division of the BBC and more than one proper newspaper. "They could actually ask some interesting questions this."

"But the difference is you don't have to lie," Niall speaks up.

"You don't have to lie, darling, exactly." Louis gives Harry a small smile, then continues with a glance around at the other boys, "Now, don't get me wrong. Obviously, we still can't quite tell the whole truth here."

"We don't even know what they'll ask," Liam points out. "And you said they gave us talking points last time? They haven't given us anything today."

Louis purses his lips, tapping his fingers over his elbow.

"Alright, here's how we have to play it," Louis says eventually. "Everyone likes an underdog in a competition like this, but in the real world, as in, after this weekend? People like to back a winner. We need public opinion on our side, but we can't come out of this looking like we're nothing more than Simon's victims. We are not a news story to read and discard the next day. We're more than just names to add to the list of people Simon has fucked over."

"Well, no," Liam says hesitantly. "But what are we?"

Louis looks to the door to the Xtra Factor studios room, where assistants and a few journalists are walking in and out. 

When he turns back to the boys, he says, "You're a band of sympathetic, likeable, talented lads who just want to make some fun music. Nothing more complicated than that."

"One Direction! We're ready for you," one of the assistants calls. 

Harry meets Louis' eyes as the other boys start back towards the room. Behind the bolster of confidence, there's concern in his light eyes. And he thinks he knows where it's coming from.

He steps up to Louis and places his hands on his shoulders, meeting him at eye level.

"That's you, too, Louis," Harry says seriously. "Sympathetic, likeable, talented."

"Harry." Louis starts to move away but Harry tightens his fingers on his shoulders.

"It's you, too," Harry insists. "You as much as anyone."

"H—"

"Fine. Minus the uncomplicated part, okay?"

That startles a laugh out of Louis. When he looks back up at Harry, he shakes his head. "Let's just go inside, love."

 

 

"And Cheryl Cole and her two contestants, Cher and Rebecca," Dermot is saying as they step inside the small studio. "And Simon Cowell, of course, and his group One Direction."

Dermot gestures to them to take their seats at the end of the long table set up in the front of the room. Simon glances up at them, not quite making eye contact, before looking back out at the assembly of press.

"This is Harry and Louis," Dermot continues introducing them. "And Liam and Zayn and Niall."

Harry sinks down into the chair next to Simon and Louis sits on his other side. Harry glances back at the other boys who have arranged themselves standing up behind them. Liam gives him a thumbs up.

Harry glances down the panel. On Simon's other side are Rebecca and Cher with Cheryl Cole and then Matt with Dannii Minogue. At the far end, Louis Walsh, the only judge without an act in the final, is sitting alone. He meets Harry's eyes for a moment, an inscrutable expression on his face, before Harry turns back to the crowd of assembled press.

There is more than one video camera on them and a few faces in the crowd Harry recognizes from the future. He could probably come up with names, too, if he thought about it long enough.

The moderator — it's not Naveen, but someone else from Simon's PR firm — is going over instructions for the journalists.

More than a few of the journalists' eyes are on him and the other boys and so Harry gives them a wave and a mouthed "Hello". He catches Simon's sidelong look as he lowers his hand.

"First question," the moderator says.

"Hello, Julie Elise, Channel 5 reporter," the first journalist speaks up. "This is a question for Cheryl and Simon."

She goes on to ask something about their on-screen rivalry. Harry settles back in his chair while they answer.

"Next question?" The moderator points to one of the hands in the air.

"Simon, how upset are you going to be if Cheryl wins again and it will be the hat trick and she'll be the most successful judge ever on The X Factor?"

"With all due respect to these two—" Simon gestures at Rebecca and Cher. "—I don't think it's going to happen."

He and Cheryl have a back and forth, and then the next question without him giving Harry or the other boys even a glance.

"Hey, Adam here from BBC Newsround," the next journalist says. "Obviously who you duet with tomorrow night is really important. Can you tell us who they are?"

They start at the other end of the table. Matt announces he's doing a song with Rihanna, Cher with will.i.am and Rebecca with Christina Aguilera. When it comes to the boys, Simon just looks pointedly down at the mic he's sharing with them, which is sitting on the table in front of him.

Harry leans in to pick it up. He gives the press a smile and says, "We'll be singing with Robbie Williams and we can't wait to show you our song tomorrow. We've been working quite hard this week and he's obviously quite an icon for anyone who grew up with boybands—" He feels Louis nudge his knee and glances at where Louis is holding out his hand for the mic. "But I'll let Louis take this one because he's always been a bit obsessed with him."

Louis looks like he's trying very hard not to roll his eyes as he takes the mic. He opens his mouth, about to speak, but then pauses, frowning down at it.

"Is this—" He taps the microphone, sending a small burst of feedback through the speakers. "Oh, it _is_ on." He gives a shrug to the reporters. "You never know." 

It startles a few laughs and disbelieving stares from the crowd, but just as Simon starts to turn his eyes to them, Louis continues, "What were we talking about? Oh, Robbie. Yes. Hear he's flying all the way from America to perform with us tomorrow night. We're quite honored and very excited. I've always been a huge fan of him myself and he's absolutely massive here in the UK, obviously."

As Louis passes the mic back, Zayn adds, to a few snickers from the press, "He's quite tall, so he's quite massive."

Harry sets the microphone down next to Simon, who is looking away from them once again.

Harry glances at Louis as the next reporter aims a question at Matt. Louis raises his eyebrows and shrugs. Harry shakes his head.

They sit through "Hi there, it's Anna from London Tonight. A question for Rebecca—" And then "Hello, Adam from The Daily Mail and this is just a quick question about what's going to happen this weekend—"

And then the moderator moves the mic to the next reporter.

"Patrick from The Guardian," he says, standing up. "Question now for the judges. What are your feelings coming out of this year after a series filled with scandals, from allegations of fixing and auto-tuning and microphonegate and Ofcom doing an investigation into the rules changes with the singoffs and—"

Simon picks up his mic, cutting him off with a, "How do I feel about it? Is that your question?" The reporter nods. Simon leans back into his chair and shrugs. "Then I feel great. I've loved being here again this year. Loved every minute of it."

Harry watches him closely, clenching his hands together under the table.

"I've met with fans on a regular basis this year," Simon is saying. "And they like the rules changes, they like the twists. I would never want to make the same show I made the year before. The fact that you're writing about it means that it's interesting. It stops it from being boring." He smirks. "And this is the music business. We're not nice people and we're not pretending to be. But, yes, I have enjoyed it."

He sets his microphone back down on the table with a stiffly petulant twist of his lips and looks down the panel as if daring any of the other judges to speak up.

When they don't, the question goes to the next reporter.

"Um, hello, Georgia from New Magazine," she says. "This is a question for Matt. I'm just wondering, you've been a favorite for pretty much the whole way through the show until a couple of weeks ago. How are you dealing with that?"

"Well, with respect to that, I've kept my nose out of the internet and out of the magazines." Matt glances at Harry and the others at the opposite end of the table. "Just doing my best, working my hardest. Fingers crossed, you know."

The next reporter, "Annie from Hello Magazine", asks about the 'style wars' between Cheryl and Dannii and if there are any outfits they regret and if they have any special glamorous outfits planned for the final weekend.

Cheryl finishes her remarks with, "It's not a catwalk show, it's a talent show."

But then Dannii adds with a smile, "Why not make a show of it, though?"

"Simon, why does no one want to hear about our outfits?" Louis Walsh asks, smirking down the table at Simon.

Harry taps his fingers against his leg.

Next, "Mark from The Mirror" asks Cher how it feels to have a hate campaign waged against her after she stayed and Mary went home last weekend, to which Cher does look genuinely surprised and horrified and Cheryl picks up the mic, saying that she's tried to shield her from knowing about that.

Harry feels Louis' knee knock against his. He can tell from the tension around Louis' eyes what he's thinking — how they're probably over halfway through and the only question that approached anything hard-hitting was shut down by Simon before it had even been fully asked.

The next question goes to a reporter Harry thinks he recognizes from the future.

"This is a question for One Direction—"

"Can you say where you're from?" the moderator cuts in.

"Anna from Heat World," she says, her name coming to Harry in the moment before she says it. "Now, Harry, everyone talks about you being the one who gets the most attention from the girls. I'm sure our readers would love to know, any celebrity ladies out there that you've got your eye on?"

Harry stares at her in confusion for a long moment. He hears a "—the fuck?" from behind him.

Simon pointedly slides the mic towards him.

"Right," Harry says, picking it up. He glances at Louis, who gives him a small, encouraging nod, and then turns back to the reporter. He swallows. "So, I understand that it's a fun question to ask, but when you ask a closed-ended question like that to a gay person, it might make them feel like you're invalidating their sexual identity." He sees the reporter's mouth drop open and he tries to give her an encouraging look. "It just might be better to ask in a more inclusive way, such as—"

He feels Louis' hand knock into his and remove the microphone from his hand.

"If I may?" Louis interrupts. "I think what Harry's getting at here is that it might come off a bit rude to ask a gay boy what girls he likes."

There's an audible gasp from someone in the room and the interviewer starts to stammer out, "But, you said that—"

"Now," Louis continues blithely. "If I recall correctly, I believe our Harry here has gone on record about fancying David Hasselhoff. I don't quite see the attraction myself. If I had to choose a David, I'd go for more of a David Beckham. But each to his own, innit? If you're looking for attractive female celebs, I'm sure any of these lads here would be happy to provide you a name or two—" He twists around as if to hand the mic to the other boys, but Simon makes an impatient gesture. Louis turns back to the reporter and shrugs. "Or not."

He hands the mic back to Harry and Harry sets it carefully down on the table. He watches Louis, who is looking out over the press, the tension in his jaw belying his casual words.

There's a long moment of silence and then shuffling feet, then the next reporter speaks up.

"Chris Wrightman here from the Daily Star. This question is for Matt. How's the voice? How do you respond to people who say you're playing the sick card?"

Dannii takes the mic before Matt can and says that his throat is still a bit sore and he's not supposed to talk much ahead of the show this weekend and that he's not playing the sick card, if he's sick, he's sick.

While she talks, Harry finally takes his eyes off Louis and looks around the room again. More than one reporter is looking over at him and the other boys instead of at Matt. And down the table, Rebecca shoots him a sympathetic smile. At the other end of the table, Louis Walsh is looking at him, looking lost in thought.

The next reporter says, "Bill from The Sun. This question is for Simon probably. On this year's show, there seems to be more of a kind of backlash of the artists against you. Everyone shouting fix, everyone slagging you off behind your back. What's that all about? Do you think people are getting fed up with the show?"

Harry tries not to look back at Louis again, but he knows that he must be suppressing another eyeroll at the easy setup.

"Well, 17 million people watched last week, _Bill_ ," Simon answers, smirking into the microphone. "So, no, I don't think they're getting fed up. They love to hate us, absolutely. But our number one aim is to make the show entertaining and, by the way, from the feedback I've had from the fans, I expect we're going to see record numbers this weekend."

The next reporter asks Cher how it feels knowing that she's the most likely to be voted off tomorrow. She stammers out an answer about never having expected to stay on for this long in the first place.

Harry is starting to feel fidgety when he feels Louis' foot knock against his again. He looks up and then follows Louis' eyes to where the next journalist is taking the mic for a question.

He recognizes her, too, he thinks.

"Hello, Catriona, BBC Radio 2 and Radio 6 music," she says. "This question is for Simon. If you recall, last year there was an internet campaign run that stopped The X Factor from clinching the Christmas number one spot. We wanted to get your thoughts on that since there's another campaign this year—"

"I wish them every possible luck," Simon cuts her off. "This time last year, I remember I spoke to the record label, they said there was nothing to worry about, but, well, it was a wake-up call, obviously. But this year there are four new song covers in the works, each act has recorded a song that really fits their style and it will be released as the winner's single should they win. I welcome the competition from this internet group and I'm sure it's exciting for those of you in radio, but I expect it's going to be a bit more of a challenge this year. I wish them the best of luck."

"Actually, that's not what they're doing—"

But Simon has already set down his mic and the moderator is moving onto the next journalist.

Harry glances at Louis, who is staring out at the press, a crease in his brow.

"Patrick again, The Guardian," the journalist says. "Rage Against The X Factor isn't campaigning for a competing song for the Christmas number one this year."

Simon shrugs carelessly.

"They put up a message today that they're encouraging people to vote for your act." Harry catches the way Simon's eyes narrow as the journalist continues. "They're saying that a vote for One Direction is a vote against Simon Cowell and The X Factor. How do you respond to that?"

Simon sets his jaw, but doesn't reach for the mic.

So Harry does.

"Hi," he says to the reporter, offering a friendly smile. "So I know Simon said earlier that this is the music business and that he's not going to pretend to be a good guy," Harry says. "I think it's unfortunate that he feels that's the way the business has to be, because we don't agree."

He sits forwards in his chair.

"We want music to be a fun and positive thing for our fans. Music isn't a TV show or a record label. Music is about acceptance and love and singing in the shower at the top of your lungs and completely off-key. Music isn't the music _business_. The five of us—" He looks up at the boys behind him. Liam gives him a small smile and Niall squeezes his shoulder. Harry glances at Simon again, who is staring stonily straight ahead, and then he turns back to the press. "The five of us, what we want is to make music for you."

Once he sets the microphone down, he feels Louis knock his knee into his and he looks up to see him give him a tight smile with something between fondness and pride in his eyes.

The next reporter asks Cheryl something about the difficulty spreading her attention equally amongst two acts this week and then the next one gets a non-answer from Louis Walsh about who he wants to win.

They're nearing the end of the press conference and when Harry hears the next reporter introduce himself as "Cameron Weyland, ITV News", he knows not to expect any hard-hitting questions for Simon from the same network that airs The X Factor.

It's all right, though. If what they've already been able to say is all they accomplish today, it's still a lot.

But then Cameron from ITV News speaks up. "This question is for Simon. Do you have any comment on the hacked video that was posted on the internet yesterday?"

Simon picks up the microphone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"So you haven't seen it? It appeared to have been footage from a meeting with you and your act."

"I believe the video you're talking about has been taken down," Simon bites out.

"In it, you refer to intentionally turning the sound off of one of your singer's microphones—"

"Those remarks were taken out of context," Simon interrupts. "That was a private meeting and there was a lot more going on behind the scenes than you could possibly be aware of."

When Simon doesn't elaborate, the reporter opens his mouth for a follow-up question.

But then from across the panel, Louis Walsh speaks up. "If I may take this one?"

Simon raises his arm in exasperated invitation.

Harry twists in his chair to face Louis Walsh. He feels Louis' hand from beside him gently brush against his back.

"I think this may be a good moment to clarify some remarks," Louis Walsh starts off. "As you may know, I have a bit of experience managing boybands. Small acts like Westlife and Boyzone, I don't expect you've heard of them."

There are a few chuckles from the press.

"Now, at the time we formed those bands, there were a couple of member who weren't straight, though I didn't know it at the time. But when I learned that they were, I told them I would support them whatever they decided to do. I believe I happened to mention in a couple of recent interviews that at the time I wouldn't have chosen them for the bands if I'd known. But, Simon." Louis Walsh shifts so he's facing Simon from the other end of the panel. "I truly hope you haven't been making decisions for your act based on those comments."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Louis," Simon grits out into his mic.

"Because this was the _nineteen_ nineties. I didn't think the world was ready for it. But it's the twenty-first century now. When Stephen and Mark did come out, what happened?"

" _Louis_."

"Nothing. Nothing happened." Louis Walsh gestures towards Simon. "Their fans didn't care. No one cared."

"That's not what this is about," Simon growls.

"Oh, I think this is exactly what this is about," Louis Walsh says. Then he looks down past Simon to where Harry and the others are sitting. "Boys, I think you have been done a true injustice here. You're five very talented performers and you've come a long way in this competition. I don't know what's going to happen this weekend but you have a very enthusiastic fanbase and I don't see them abandoning you in the year 2010 — It's 2010, Simon, for god's sake —"

" _Louis._ "

"I think you have a very bright future as a band. I don't want you to think this is what the music business is like. This severe mismanagement on the part of you mentor—"

"Alright, that's enough," Simon snaps. "I don't know how we got on this topic but it's not relevant to anything that's been going on here." He turns to the moderator. "Can we have the next question, please, before we run out of time this afternoon?"

Louis Walsh smirks down at Simon and, after a marked pause, the moderator selects the next question. But Harry's still gaping across the panel at Louis Walsh, jaw dropped open. He hears a couple of the boys mutter behind him and then feels Louis' hand touch his back. He turns to face him and Louis is looking about as stunned as he feels. Harry shakes his head at him, wide-eyed.

After Dannii finishes answering a question about balancing her new baby with being a judge, the next reporter speaks.

"Hello, Juliette from That Magazine. This question is for One Direction. As the new favorites to win, how are you coping with the added pressure?"

Harry sees Louis give Liam a slight nod and Harry passes him the mic.

"So, I hadn't actually realized we were? Did you guys?" Liam asks the rest of them. Harry shakes his head and Zayn and Niall say "no" and Louis says, "No, definitely hadn't."

It might be a blatant lie to Harry, but he's pretty sure that their stunned reactions to Louis Walsh probably carry over to making it believable.

Liam turns back to the press and says, "No, we didn't realize. Are you sure that's true?"

The journalist laughs and says, "Yes. You've been bookies favorite for the last two weeks."

"Alright. Wow," Liam says. "Well, I don't really know what to say. We've always known each week that anything could happen. I don't think any of us have taken any of this for granted."

"Of course, now we're going to be feeling the added pressure," Louis adds dryly. "So, thanks for that."

There are some chuckles in the room.

"Well, we're really excited for our songs this weekend. I think we're going to just keep doing what we've been doing, working hard, trying our best, not taking this experience for granted," Liam finishes up neatly. "Anything else?"

"Keeping our passwords up to date," Harry adds, to more laughs.

Liam shakes his head at Harry, looking disbelieving.

"We love singing," Niall puts in. "That's really all we're thinking about."

"That and avoiding spiders at all cost," Zayn says dryly.

Liam turns back to the reporter. "Does that answer your question?"

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Final 4 Press Conference - ["...Harry, is there any special celebrity ladies out there that you've got your eye on?"](https://youtu.be/1iv3CMWmiRA?t=1153)


	25. Chapter 25

_no one's more anti-Simon than Simon Cowell's own act. if you want to be truly anti-X Factor vote one direction_  
\- 'Rage Against The X Factor'

 

 

Harry leans against the wall and bites his thumbnail as he watches Louis across the lounge.

He's curled in the corner of a sofa and, having long since discarded the formal black and grays they'd worn for the press conference, he's now soft in a hoodie and a beanie tugged down over his hair. The laces of his hoodie are still knotted together in a bow the teenage version of himself had tied. Though he hadn't tied it tight enough, because it's still open wide enough to reveal the bare curve of his neck and the edge of his collarbones.

He's fragile and soft and looks cold and there is nothing Harry wants more than to go over there and bundle him in scarves and blankets and hugs and everything warm.

Except, as if reading Harry's mind about how small and vulnerable he looks, he uncurls his legs, slouches to set his feet flat on the floor, and crosses his arms over his chest. Harry catches him glance around the room with wary eyes.

He's talking with Rebecca and the other boys and Harry would quite like to just stay here all night and listen to his light cadence of his voice. He wants to listen to Louis tell him everything about the last two years, all his thoughts, all his hopes and his fears, all the good things and the bad things and just — everything.

Harry wants to tell Louis, in turn, every little thought he wished he could have shared in the past two years.

He also wants to just curl up with him in a row of a plane or bench of a bus or back of a car. Wants to give him one of the ear buds from his iPod, bend their heads together, and play back every one of Louis' singles. Wants to tell him everything he loved about each of them, from his voice to the music to the words to — well, his voice, again. Wants to make him play for him every song that he hasn't released.

And he wants to play his songs for Louis, too. Tell him what they really mean, what they don't mean, what he wishes he could do differently. Play him the songs he wishes had made it onto the album but didn't.

But their music's not made yet and won't be for years — and even if it was Harry doesn't have any credits left on his iTunes. 

And now Rebecca is saying, "It's amazing, what he said to Simon. I couldn't believe what I was hearing."

"Yeah," Liam says. "We thought Walsh wouldn't help us even if we'd asked."

He sets down his phone in his lap, but then immediately picks it back up. He's been checking it more compulsively than ever since they left Fountain Studios. 

"But here he is." Niall gestures with a grin. "Taking our side against Simon. Fucking grand night."

"Not taking our side," Harry corrects him, his first contribution to the conversation.

At the same time that he hears Louis say, "That's not what happened."

He meets Louis' eyes across the room.

"What're ye talking about?" Niall demands, looking between them. "Ye heard what Walsh said."

"That was a proper takedown there," Zayn agrees.

"It was," Rebecca says, circling her hands around her cup of tea. "The judges' bickering is part of the show, but that was different."

"That still wasn't Louis Walsh taking our side, though," Harry repeats.

"Yeah, that was him covering his own arse," Louis agrees. He leans back on the sofa, resting an elbow on the armrest. "And I bloody prefer it that way."

Harry nods in agreement.

"What? Why?" Liam asks in confusion.

"Lads, look. Imagine that was all just 'im having a twinge of conscience," Louis says. "Perhaps a belated loyalty to the gay community he's pretended not to be a part of for his whole life."

"Wait, Walsh is gay?" Zayn interrupts with a frown.

"At the end of the day," Louis keeps talking over him. "He's got about as many principles as Simon himself, which is to say, not many. He's a smarmy git who's loyal to money and power, full stop. I'd rather have 'im take our side because he—"

"But Louis Walsh is gay?" Zayn is clearly hung up on this.

"Are you sure that's not just rumors?" Matt walks into the room, dangling a beer bottle by the neck. "Because I've heard those, too."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Look, bloody Simon Cowell's gay. And all that means is that when he says he can help a lad keep pesky rumors about their homosexuality under wraps, he's got some personal expertise in the matter."

"Wait, _Simon_ 's gay, too?" Liam interrupts.

"Are you fucking serious?" Zayn demands.

Louis glances at Harry. "Did you not mention that?"

"I mean, I knew about Walsh but I wasn't sure about Simon," Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Well, precisely." Louis looks back at the others. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't change a thing for us. Doesn't mean old Uncle Simon didn't think I was too much of a fucking twink to be in this band."

Harry catches the consternation in Liam's frown and the sad fall of Rebecca's face. He bites his lip and changes the subject back with, "But what happened tonight, that was Louis Walsh deciding he needed to distance himself from everything we caught Simon saying—"

"And Simon 'imself," Louis puts in.

Harry nods. "I mean, I'd take whatever it is that makes him think Simon's on the losing side of this over—"

"Over an unlikely fit of conscience from an old man who doesn't know the meaning of the term?"

Harry smiles at him. "Yeah. Especially because whatever makes Walsh think that also made—"

"The ITV guy," Louis says.

"Exactly," Harry says.

"What ITV guy?" Niall asks.

Louis explains the meaning of ITV having their own reporter bring up the video at a time in the press conference where they might have made it through without having to directly address it. Harry hears the kettle click off in the kitchen and pushes himself back up from the wall.

A minute later, after dropping off a cup of tea for Louis and Liam and a tea and packet of rich tea biscuits for Niall, Harry feels a tug at his sleeve.

He looks back down at Louis, who raises his eyebrows in invitation, and Harry bites his lip to keep from smiling too much as he curls down to settle on his lap. Louis shifts to make them both more comfortable and then wraps the arm not holding his tea around Harry's waist. 

It's then that Harry realizes the others are staring at him. Well, the other boys. Not Rebecca or Matt, who are very used to Louis' predilection for lap-sitting. If they were going to be surprised by anything it would probably only be that Louis isn't demanding that he be the one sitting in Harry's lap. But the other boys know how different everything has been since Louis came back from the future.

Harry covers the hand Louis rested on his stomach with his own. Louis turns his hand so that he can tangle their fingers together and that— 

That gets everyone's attention.

But Harry is tired of pretending not to love this boy, and Louis just squeezes his hand in return.

The volume on the TV rises and Harry glances over at where Matt is pointing the remote at it.

"What're we watching?" Harry tucks his head against Louis' shoulder.

"Don't know. Don't care," Matt says. He drops the remote and takes a long swig of beer. "Just tired of thinking of nothing but this show and the music business. Want to think about something else for five seconds."

Harry can identify with that. But apparently Rebecca can't because, less than five seconds later, she's asking, "How do you two suddenly know so much about the music business?"

"Hmm?" Louis says.

"I suppose we all knew Harry had turned into a bit of a prodigy." She gives him a kind smile. "But how do you suddenly know so much, Louis?"

Next to them on the sofa, Liam furrows his brow, looking like he's trying to come up with a good excuse. But Louis speaks up before he has to.

"Reckon we've all had a few too many heart-to-hearts with our industry master himself, haven't we, lads?" he says lightly.

It's quiet for a long moment. Dairy farmers rap on the TV advert.

"Well, if one good thing came out of this week, at least Louis finally confessed to those pranks," Matt says, taking a sip of his beer.

"I confessed to what now?" Louis asks.

Matt gives him a skeptical look. "What? Are you going to claim the One Direction twitter was hacked again?"

"If I need to," Louis says blithely. He sets down his cup and runs his hand up Harry's thigh, making Harry smile into his shoulder.

It hadn't actually been Louis who'd been behind the cheeky updates from their account these past couple of days. Harry is appropriately flattered that anyone would mistake himself and Niall for Louis, though.

Louis, in fact, is the only one of them who hasn't tweeted at all these past couple of days. Harry isn't certain he's updated since he's come back from the future, for that matter.

He idly traces a ghost of the 2-8 tattoo over the backs of Louis' fingers and Louis resumes some conversation with Matt. He wonders what they had been doing right now eight years ago. They would have been two anxious-excited, fun-loving idiots. So most likely giggling together while they plotted their last pranks before the final shows.

Instead, they're two jaded popstars who'd faltered while living out their wildest dreams and now, instead of plotting fun pranks for the weekend, they're plotting how to escape Simon Cowell and still salvage some sort of career.

He heaves a sigh. It's a night that's quite possibly been very good for them and, on top of that, he's in Louis' arms and he's surrounded by some of his best friends, even if they are young versions of them. The night deserves better than for Harry to spend it being morose.

And, well, they're still plotting a _prank_ , he supposes. Just a bigger one, and with less giggling involved.

His phone dings and he shifts on Louis' lap to pull it out.

"Nick saw the footage," he says quietly and tilts the phone so Louis can read Nick's sarcastic commentary.

"Bloody wanker," Louis huffs. Harry can't help a small laugh as he types out a reply.

"Our contracts say we're stuck with Syco," Rebecca suddenly blurts out.

Harry looks up. She's sitting on the sofa opposite them, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

"That means we're stuck with Simon Cowell," she continues.

"Yes," Liam says slowly.

"You met with a lawyer," she says. "Did they say — is there any way out of that?"

Harry had started wondering if Rebecca knew more than she seemed, but he hadn't realized she'd actually known they'd met with a lawyer.

"They met with a lawyer?" Matt asks. Then he shakes his head. "Whatever. Look, I understand why the boys want out." He takes a swig from his beer bottle. "But why are you saying contract like it's a bad thing? Winning a contract with Simon Cowell is the reason we all signed up for this, remember."

"Well, maybe I don't want to win a contract anymore." She rubs at her eyes frustratedly. "Look, I'm just so tired and I haven't seen my babies in over a month, all right?"

"We, er," Liam starts after a moment of silence. He glances at Harry and Louis, then back at Rebecca. "We haven't quite figured the Syco contract part out yet."

On the other sofa, Zayn has his phone out. He nudges Niall. "Ni, when do your parents get in tomorrow? Mine said they could meet them at the airport."

Niall's expression falls. 

"I thought you said they needed a ride?"

"Oh, they, er. They're not coming."

"What?" Liam demands.

Niall shrugs. "The one had to work last minute and the other didn't want to fly alone."

"Couldn't your brother go instead?"

"Already cancelled the tickets."

"That doesn't make sense," Liam insists. "Why wouldn't they just—"

"Nialler," Louis interrupts softly. "I'm sorry, lad."

Niall shakes his head. "Nah. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Zayn insists.

Niall shrugs again, looking a bit brittle, but offers a smile anyways. Despite the spiky bleached hair and crooked teeth, he looks oddly like his older self. "Well, isn't this is what happens when you go on an adventure? Sometimes you don't get to go home again for a long time."

Harry tightens his hand over Louis'.

"What are you talking about?" comes a shrill demand from the doorway. Harry looks up to see Cher stepping into the lounge. "Wait. How long as _this_ been going on?"

Harry follows her accusing finger to himself and Louis.

"You know what? Never mind." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't even care. If you're gay for each other, I can't have slept with you, so maybe they can stop calling me the slag of the house."

Harry's phone dings again.

"Is that—" Liam asks, anxiety tinging his voice.

"It's just Nick again," Harry says. 

"Oh." He sinks back down into the sofa.

Harry pulls up Carole's contact and then types out the number to Nick. He follows it with a 'why?', but instead of an explanation for why on earth Nick had wanted their stylist's phone number — Harry hadn't recalled them knowing each other except through him in the future — all he receives is an admonishment to avoid any more excitement for the night because Nick's old gay heart won't be able to take it.

"So still no one's said anything? Nothing?" Liam interrupts. He has his phone out again. "I know you said not to expect anything online tonight, but do you have any idea how many X Factor rules we've broken this week?"

"How many?" Zayn drawls.

"Too many. I don't even know," Liam says. "And still no one from the show has said anything to us? It doesn't make any sense."

Cher starts to complain about the show being all bullshit anyway, but Harry twists in Louis' lap to look at him. He glances meaningfully around at the other boys and he can tell Louis is thinking the same thing he is.

"Alright, lads, enough of this now." Louis claps his hands together. "You're all coming with me."

"Where are we going?" Zayn asks suspiciously.

"You better not be planning another prank!" Matt calls after them.

 

 

Harry is scrubbing a towel through his hair, lost in thought as he steps out of the bathroom, when he feels a touch on his wrist.

He jumps, startled, only to find Louis looking back at him, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"There you are, H," he says, circling his fingers around Harry's wrist.

"You were looking for me?" Harry asks curiously. He'd thought Louis was still off trying to distract the other boys with Mario Kart and junk food. Harry had sneaked away early — though not until he'd set new records on two, almost three, courses — to claim a shower while there was still hot water.

"Yeah," Louis says. He looks down at Harry and then back up. "Yeah, I was looking for you."

Harry's in joggers but had forgotten to bring anything on top. It was something he'd already begun to regret. It was drizzling when they left the studios earlier but he wonders if it's getting cold enough to snow again.

But the appreciative look in Louis' eyes is starting to make him not mind the chill of the hallway.

"I'm here," Harry says.

"You are. C'mere," There's a small sparkle in his eyes as he tugs Harry gently down the hallway.

Harry is about to argue that they're going the wrong direction. But then Louis pauses outside one of the empty bedrooms, eyes drifting down to Harry's lips, and Harry thinks 'oh'.

Just as Harry leans towards him, though, Louis takes a step back, reaching for the door.

He pulls Harry inside but doesn't go far. Just closes the door behind him and then backs Harry up against it.

Harry tangles his fingers the folds of Louis' hoodie and Louis leans in, brushes their lips together. It's just a light press of lips, but it shoots a hot spike of arousal through Harry.

"You were so fucking brilliant tonight, love," Louis whispers. "Bloody smashed it."

"You did, too, Lou." Harry tightens his grip on Louis' hoodie as he kisses him again, a little more deeply this time.

When Louis pulls back, he says, "I had me few seconds of sarcasm, sure. But you, darling, you should've seen yourself." 

Louis very obviously looks him over. His hands slide over Harry's sides, spreading tingles over his skin and he says, "Same as eight years from now, take over every bloody room, hardly anyone could take their eyes from you. Could all see you're a star, have to be blind not to."

"Louis," Harry says desperately. "You, too, you have to know that. You, too."

He wishes he had better words to make him believe it. He thinks there's a good part of Louis who truly has no idea. He should have been the one giving this speech to Louis and now 'you too' seems too weak. He kisses him again, desperate to at least show him how much he—

Louis cups the side of his face with his hand, and pulls back enough to talk.

"And everything you said." Louis smiles, and then shakes his head. "You did so good. You _are_ so good. You grew up so fucking well."

"Louis." Harry feels a sting of tears in his eyes.

"Haz, gonna do everything in my power to get you back up on that stage," Louis promises fiercely.

"Louis," Harry tries to interrupt, but Louis kisses him quiet.

"No one deserves it like you do, love," Louis insists. "No one. But, H, I didn't say it yesterday, but you know, don't you?"

"I know what?" Harry's mind is a little bit of a whirlwind with everything Louis is saying, and with how he keeps kissing him in between, and touching his hands gently over his bare skin.

Louis pauses and looks at him seriously. "You know if it doesn't work out, I'll still be here, don't you?"

Harry draws back to look at him.

Because — yes. Harry thinks he does know that. Louis was never the one to give up on them, after all.

"Lou," he starts. "Louis, I'm so so sorry I got it wrong last time. I'm so sorry for everything—"

Louis shushes him with another kiss. And even if it was just meant to be a brief kiss to distract him, Louis makes a pleased sound as he lets Harry deepen it. Harry tightens his grip on Louis' hoodie and Louis pushes his denim-clad thigh between Harry's legs, spreading them apart, angling his hips enough to give Harry a bit of friction.

Harry gasps and Louis captures his mouth in another kiss. But then Harry feels Louis tracing Harry's hard cock through his trackies and it's just too much.

"Lou," Harry says raggedly.

"Darling, could say I'm so bloody proud of you, because I _am_ ," Louis says in a low voice. "But, jesus, you were fucking sexy to watch. Think I've had a semi ever since that moment you stole the mic from our overlord 'imself."

Harry bites his lower lip as Louis rubs his thumb over the tip of Harry's cock through the fabric.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Yes," Harry says, even though he doesn't know exactly what Louis' asking. "Please."

Louis steps back, pulling Harry further into the room. It's one of the empty bedrooms, the same one where Louis had brought Harry — how long ago? two weeks ago? — and then been embarrassed when Harry has assumed he'd brought him there for a snog.

This Louis is decidedly not embarrassed and this was definitely premeditated. The single bed, whose sheets have long been stripped off by X Factor staff packing up the house, is already covered with their duvets from upstairs.

Also, is there a candle burning on the bedside table? But Harry's too distracted by other things, like Louis pushing him down onto the bed, to figure it out.

Louis settles Harry in the center of the covers and then he crawls over him. Harry watches him in the dim bedroom light.

Then Louis leans down and captures his mouth in a kiss.

"Lou," Harry gasps out when Louis squeezes his nipple between his fingers. He arches into the touch. It's not fair. Louis _knows_ how sensitive his nipples are. Knows how Harry likes them pinched just slightly on the rough side. "Lou _is_."

Louis flashes him a smirk before shifting down and replacing his fingertips with his mouth over Harry's nipple.

_Fuck._

It wasn't that Harry hadn't loved being with eighteen-year-old Louis this time around, because he had. He'd loved it so much. And it wasn't that Harry had never taken the lead between them before, because he had, definitely. Sometimes they'd be in a place where one or the other of them had needed Harry to take care of Louis for longer than the week that Harry and Louis' younger self had been together.

And maybe Harry should do that more this time. He doesn't know. Maybe it's something to think about. But—

But Louis taking charge is a lot more like what Harry's used to. They just fit so well together like this.

Harry pushes off Louis' beanie and threads his fingers through the disheveled, gelled locks of Louis' hair. Louis kisses down the dip in the center of his chest, then presses kisses down his belly.

And Harry doesn't want to be impatient. It feels really good, maybe a little too good, and—

"M'so hard, Lou," Harry blurts out.

Louis squeezes his side, shooting him a crinkly-eyed smirk of admonishment. 

Harry takes a deep breath and wills his body to calm down even just a little. He usually loves drawing it out, likes to wait as long as he can before he comes. His sixteen-year-old body is just so on _edge_.

Louis resumes kissing his stomach again and murmurs, "You're soft here, though, aren't you, love."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. Then he draws a ragged breath as Louis drags his lips over his belly. To try to distract himself, he adds, "Pretty sure my sixteen-year-old self had never heard the words core workout."

Louis murmurs an agreement, then bites gently at the bit of pudge below his belly button. Harry groans at the arousal that spikes through him, fisting his hands in the covers.

Louis presses a soothing kiss to the sensitive skin there and then murmurs, "Your body's always so fucking lovely, Haz."

"Lou—"

"You could forget you ever heard the words, too, you know." Louis glances up at him.

"Sounds nice," Harry mumbles. He knows as well as Louis must that it's not realistic. Gay or not, in the end, he's still going to be in music, still in a boyband, still on display. 

Harry went into this whole thing at sixteen pretty unselfconscious about his appearance. Sure, it's impossible not to let years of tabloids picking apart every shirtless photo of him get to him a little, but he's still never been as bothered by his body as other people seemed to think he should be. He hated being the flirt, the womanizer in the band. But one good thing about it was that tabloids tended to be more eager to focus on him.

Louis had loathed that they did that to him, but for Harry it had been a bullet he could take for the others. Each of the others were for various utterly undeserving reasons, more self-conscious than Harry was about his body.

But all that said, he still can't help a wistful pang for the ordinary sixteen-year-old boy he might've been. A boy who had never had to worry about getting papped at a bad angle. Who could have kept his baby fat and continued on blissfully uncaring about what anyone but his boyfriend thought.

Louis pushes the side of Harry's trackies down and kisses over Harry's padded hipbone.

"Louis," Harry moans, and Louis just nudges his trackies a bit lower, trailing his lips over the beginning of Harry's trimmed pubes.

Louis turns his head nuzzles against Harry's cock, where it's achingly hard and still trapped in his trackies.

"Louis," Harry groans.

But Louis just scoots backwards on the bed and sits up so he can slide his hands under Harry. He gives Harry's bum a squeeze and then hooks his fingers into the waist of his trackies.

"Look how fucking gorgeous you are, baby," he murmurs as he stands up to tugs them all the way off. "The sight of you. Jesus."

Harry's cock finally springs free, bouncing up against his lower belly.

"Lou, I need—" Harry pleads.

"Shh." Louis takes Harry's cock in hand as he crawls back over Harry. 

He presses their lips together and Harry reaches up to tangle his fingers in Louis' hair and hold him in place. He gives him an open-mouthed, dirty kiss.

But Louis pulls away after a moment, saying, "Gonna suck you, darling."

"Wait," Harry says, tightening his hands in Louis' hair. "Wait, I want you to fuck me. I have—"

He's about to say that he's actually prepared with supplies this time, but Louis interrupts him with, "Okay."

"Really?" Harry says.

Louis laughs and it makes him look for a brief moment so much younger, like his younger self. "Don't look so surprised, H. Would love to fuck you."

"But then why—" Harry protests as Louis continues backing away, down Harry's body.

"Gonna suck you first, though," Louis informs him.

"No."

"No?" Louis quirks an eyebrow up at him and looks down to where Harry's cock is quite obviously eager.

Harry shakes his head against the covers. "M'gonna come if you do."

"I know," Louis says, even as he licks his lips.

"But—" Harry can hear his own voice pitched high, whiny.

"Darling." Louis rubs a soothing hand over the side of his hip. "Baby, do you think I could possibly miss how close you are? You'd come before I even got you lubed up. You think I don't remember what it was like to fuck you at sixteen?"

"Technically you didn't until—" Harry starts.

" _Seventeen_ ," Louis corrects, shooting him an exasperated grin. "I still remember your body, baby, it'll be better this way. And you'll be up for it again so soon."

Which is, well, very likely true. Harry just usually likes to last longer, draw it out, and Louis knows that. Except that isn't happening tonight and he is so close, he needs —

"Let me have a taste, love," Louis says, still hovering over his cock, hand on it, but still.

"Fuck, okay, yeah," Harry breathes out. "Yes. Please."

Louis shoots him a smile, all gorgeous and crinkly-eyed, and then settles in between Harry's legs. Harry's cock bounces against Louis' lips, leaving a streak of precum. Louis darts his tongue out to lick it off and Harry groans.

He is not going to survive this.

Louis takes Harry's cock in his hand and, god, just seeing the delicate bones of his hand shifting as he grips the base of it, as he licks his lips again, lashes flutter against his cheekbones—

Harry is pretty sure there's no one in the world who likes giving blowjobs more than him. But Louis might at a quite close runner up.

Harry loves them more selfishly. Loves the way it fills his mouth, his throat, loves giving up control, loves gagging on it, loves the dizzy high of barely being able to breathe.

Louis, though, loves them in an entirely different way. Because nothing gets him off like giving pleasure.

Harry watches as Louis gets him slick with his own spit and Harry's own precum. Pumps the base of his cock with casual but careful flicks of his wrist, he teases around the head with his lips and tongue, switches it up and cups his balls in his other hand.

Louis can't take Harry all the way, not for lack of trying. There was a time when he took it as a personal challenge that Harry could do it for him. But Harry's cock's just a bit too big and Louis has just a bit too much of a gag reflex.

But now that Harry's been with a couple of men now who could deepthroat him, he can say with decisive, absolute certainty what he'd always suspected, that nothing could ever compare with Louis' blowjobs.

It's so much. 

And, on top of that, he gets to watch Louis' slim fingers wrapped around his cock, gets to see the way his cheeks hollow, the way his pupils darken more with every groan, every helpless thrust of his he drags out of Harry.

"Lou, you look," Harry groans out. "You look so, so good like that. Fuck."

Louis just hums around his cock, the vibration bringing Harry that much closer.

And once Harry comes, and Louis gives his softening, sensitive cock one last soothing suck, Harry grabs him by his hoodie, fists his hands in it, and tugs him up, saying "Come here, come here, come here" until he's close enough to drag him into a wet, dirty kiss. Harry wants to taste every bit of himself in Louis' mouth.

"Please, let me get you now." He tugs at the waistband of Louis' trackies.

But Louis stops him with a gentle hand.

"Lou," Harry whines.

"Haz, you're singing tonight, darling," Louis says.

The only problem with blowjobs is they leave Harry hoarse. The only problem with _Louis_ is that he knows that.

"I'll be fine," Harry says.

Louis looks at him skeptically.

"Just the tip," Harry compromises. He palms Louis' cock, where it's still trapped in his jeans. And why on earth does Louis still have clothes on?

"Are you really going to stop at the tip?" Louis asks skeptically.

"Yes."

"No, you're not." Louis laughs and gives him a quick peck on his lips. "That trick might've worked on me eighteen-year-old self but I'm onto your ways, Harold."

Harry pouts.

"And I thought you wanted me to fuck you, babe," Louis reminds him, kissing his cheek. Harry — had sort of forgotten about that. But Louis giggles, gives him another quick kiss, and then stands up from the bed.

Harry frowns as he watches him adjust himself in his jeans, and then walk over to the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry says, hearing the whiny tone in his voice.

"Forgot to lock the door, love," Louis says as he flicks the lock.

Harry reaches for his own discarded trackies and fumbles around inside-out pockets until he can extract their contents of the pockets. Louis turns back to him, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"What have you got there, Hazza?"

Harry glances down at the packets of lube and condoms he's proudly brandishing in his hand. He thought it was pretty self-explanatory.

"This is lube," Harry says, holding up one of the packets.

Louis flicks it out of his hands with a laugh. "Fuck you, Haz, I _know_ that's lube—"

"And this is a condom."

"And you're saying that _you_ want to use a condom?"

Harry glances at small foil packet. They'd rarely used them, and usually only when Louis thought a mess would be particularly inconvenient. Harry prefers it messy, never cared if it was a quickie backstage before they went out in front of thousands of people.

"Er, no, I don't." He tosses the condom aside, but then slides off the bed to retrieve the lube from where it fell on the floor. "Just habit."

And then stills.

"I didn't mean —" He looks up at Louis in the dim light, feeling his own eyes widen. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"Haz." Louis kneels down beside him and cups his cheek with his hand. "You don't have to apologize. It's been two years."

Harry peeks back at him. There's tightness around his eyes but Louis doesn't look surprised. Harry's mind churns over the words. It's been two years. More like almost three years, really. He hadn't — he'd tried so hard for so long not to think about it that he just — hadn't thought about.

He stands up quickly.

"Fuck, Lou, I didn't even think about it."

Louis rises to his feet beside him, brow creased with confusion. 

"You came back here," Harry says. "I mean, you didn't even have a choice, but I didn't even think about — Was there someone—?"

Louis still looks confused for a moment but then his expression clears. He actually laughs a little as he leans in to kiss Harry gently, before shaking his head. "No, Hazza, no. No one. Was just waiting to get free of — well, waiting until I could try to win you back, darling."

Harry blinks at him, feeling like the ground has dropped out beneath him. If he was a few years younger he might've been relieved that there was no one to be jealous of. But somehow this feels worse, so _much_ worse, than the thought of Louis with someone else.

"But you could've just — all you had to do was—" Harry chokes down the rest of that thought before he can get it. Telling Louis that all he'd needed to do all along was say one word seems so hurtful. He suddenly understands how reading his diary the other night could've hurt, could've felt cruel. 

Before he can apologize again, though, Louis shakes his head.

"It's fine, Hazza."

"It's not—"

"No. It _is_." Louis' bright blue eyes are steady, insistent. "It is because I say it is."

Harry shakes his head, but doesn't argue. He reaches up, brushes the strands of Louis' fringe across his forehead.

"And I know there were others for you, H," Louis tells him. "I don't exactly want to know the specifics but—" He stops himself, then says, "No, we can talk about it, if you want to. You can always tell me anything."

"I don't," Harry says firmly. "I don't want to, Lou. There's nothing to talk about. Just me trying to move on but I couldn't. Don't think I ever really wanted to."

"Harry," Louis says, a broken tone in his voice.

"I'm so sorry."

"Quiet, darling." Louis gives him a tender smile. When he kisses Harry again, he can still taste himself in his mouth and he always, always wants Louis to taste like him. Louis pulls back and says, "All that matters is you're here. And I'm here. Now, are you going to let me fuck you or not?"

Harry laughs. He thinks about how so much of Louis hasn't changed a bit, how much he still hates and loves this boy.

"Well, you can't do that with all those clothes on, Lou," Harry says, tugging at his hoodie.

"I could do with _most_ of them on," Louis informs him. "It's cold in here."

Harry waggles his eyebrows and declares, "Don't worry, baby, I'll keep you warm."

Louis side-eyes him. "Do you really think that line's going to work for you?"

Harry grins. Louis pokes his dimple, which only makes Harry grins harder.

Louis shakes his head at him, then holds up a packet alongside a bottle from the bedside table. "Which one do you reckon is better?"

"Oh," Harry sits up straighter and peers at them interestedly. "You got lube, too?"

"The best Tesco lube that the fiver my younger self generously left me could buy," Louis declares. "Well, minus the cost of the scented candle."

Harry looks beyond Louis to see the candle burning on the top of the bedside table.

"I didn't even notice." Harry shifts closer to smell it. "You got me lube and a scented candle?"

"Oi, was trying to be romantic," Louis protests, pinching his side. "Should've just stuck with the tried and true and romanced you with half-cooked chicken again, yeah?"

 

 

"So does this mean Harry can finally stop pining?"

They're gathered early morning at Fountain Studios to rehearse their group song.

All the other finalists from the live shows are there. Treyc and Paije and John and Katie and Wagner and Mary Byrne. Simon's long-eliminated Belle Amie, who keep shooting Zayn dirty looks every time he tries to approach Geneva. Two more of Simon's group acts who were eliminated before Harry even came back in time.

And Aiden, with his impetuous smirk. And Matt who is laughing beside him.

Harry draws himself up and says primly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

A cup is pressed into his hands. He glances down at the smell of coffee — instant coffee, but, still _coffee_. Which they'd run out of at the house that morning. He smiles at him. "Oh, thanks, Lou."

Louis glances around at the others quizzically.

Aiden informs Louis, "You know, mate, could've saved this poor boy weeks of pining if you'd told him you weren't actually dating Heather."

"And a rotten hangover," Matt puts him. Harry cringes at the memory of that headachy morning. Though it hadn't been the first time he'd sat in Simon's office queasy and hungover.

"I—" Louis starts, then frowns. "Who said I wasn't actually dating Heather?"

"You did," Matt says.

Louis looks at Harry, clearly thinking this must have been something that had changed in the past that he'd missed, but Harry shrugs.

"Didn't you?" Aiden asks. "Yesterday? They put the video of the press conference online last night."

"Ah, right," Louis says.

Harry stares at him for a long moment, trying to figure it out. But then Brian arrives and claps his hands, instructing them all to get into position.

When the rehearsal is over, Aiden remarks, "Man, seeing you lot on the show every week — don't mean anything bad by it, but it's like you're five different boys than the ones I knew a month ago."

 

 

The other boys are as much on edge as they were the night before. More so, possibly. Liam startles with every message he receives on his phone. Even Louis is starting to look more suspicious with every minute.

Nothing is happening.

Sure, news stories are trickling in ahead of the final tonight. And Louis Walsh's denunciation of Simon didn't go unnoticed, though more papers are hedging by chalking it up to their usual back-and-forth rivalry than are mentioning the details of the leaked video. Some are latching onto the safer story, the hints that Simon was tampering with The X Factor's sound. But in the mainstream press, all the articles end with some variation of "only raises more questions".

And on social media, while the veracity of the leaked video is still being debated, the actual press conference footage is harder to dismiss. 

But no one from The X Factor has had anything to say to them. They've had no lectures, no admonishments. They haven't taken away access to the One Direction twitter. They haven't even given them talking points for the day's interviews.

The production assistants give them odd and loaded looks but don't say anything. And when they pass Naveen in the hallway, all they get is an uncomfortable nod and a half-hearted "good luck, boys."

It's like hearing a roll of thunder without seeing the lighting. But knowing the lightning is striking somewhere.

 

 

No one asks anything in their interviews about two of them being gay. In a perfect world, they wouldn't be asking because no one cared. But Harry knows better than most that the world they live in isn't perfect on this particular point.

Which means the interviewers must have been instructed not to ask. Just as they've clearly been instructed not to talk about anything related to the video.

They do an interview with Sugarscape, and Anna, one of the writers Harry remembers well from their past interviews here and from the future, glances at where the PA in the room is distracted in some banter with Niall, and then tells Harry in a low voice that they filmed an interview with his sister earlier that day.

"Your valentine's story is so cute," she gushes. "But we're waiting from the okay from X Factor to put it online."

Harry nods. How strange it is to be in a world where they're truly discussing releasing school age 'coming out' story.

Across the room, their handler announces it's time to head to the next interview. But Anna stops Harry before he can leave.

She says quickly, "Look, I just wanted to say, um, I'm so sorry for asking you about girls every week. What they've done to you and Louis is — I mean, I know you can't tell us the whole story, but." She shakes her head, then gives him a sympathetic smile. "I'm just sorry."

"Harry," the PA says, more impatience in his tone.

"Look, I just—" Anna whispers quickly. "You know that you guys are on fire, yeah? Our comments sections are blowing up and you should see our retweets. I mean, everyone wants to hear from you. So, like, if you ever need our help, just say the word."

So Harry just nods at her before following the other boys out.

After the press conference yesterday, the reporter from the Guardian had tried to approach them but the PAs blocked him. When Zayn had protested, they'd reminded them that The X Factor handles all their contact with the media. They're not allowed to talk to reporters alone. But maybe. Someday he can take her up on that.

 

 

There a tweet from Mary saying that he and Louis make an adorable couple.

Larry isn't quite trending on twitter but Liam informs them the tag is getting plenty of attention. He worries about X Factor house relationships being against the rules.

Louis just raises his eyebrows and asks, "Don't you think we're a bit past that point, mate?"

Zayn snorts out a laugh, and then looks cautious, as if he's still not sure he's allowed to laugh at things Louis says. Louis gives him a regretful look, and looks like he's about to say something but then stops himself.

Their families are all there — save Niall's — but they've been too busy ferried from one interview, last minute sound checks, choreography rehearsals, stylists, to see them.

Louis gets a text from his mother saying she got a warning from the show for the twitcam she'd posted with Harry's mother. He seems more amused than worried, as Harry is sure his mother is the same. Liam worries again but Harry points out that Jay has been getting warnings from the show for weeks for liking Larry Stylinson tweets and that has hardly stopped her. They can't watch the twitcam because none of their phones can play it and they don't have time to get ahold of a computer.

Lottie tweets a picture of Louis with all his siblings with "so proud of you no matter what". Louis stares at it for a long moment, shaking his head, a soft smile on his face.

"How can I get her to stay twelve years old forever?" Louis asks Harry.

Their soundcheck for their duet also doubles as their first and only rehearsal with Robbie Williams. He mentions something about them being in the news, but he clearly has no idea what for. 

Louis rolls his eyes at Robbie Williams' posturing and slips in sarcasm that toes the edge of being blatant enough for Robbie to catch onto the fact that Louis is hardly a starstruck teenager anymore.

 

 

Carole meets them in a dressing room for last-minute adjustments to their outfits for the show.

Harry fingers the plaid shirt she's picked out for him.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

"Er, sure." It's not quite groundbreaking fashion, but it's a far cry from blazers and bowties he'd been in last time. "It's different."

"I know." She flashes him a smile 

He glances over at where she's putting pins in Louis' top. Louis' blue eyes soften as they meet Harry's. He's in a long-sleeve band t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. It's a lot like what Harry had him wear the other weekend.

"Is there a reason it's different?" Harry asks.

"I've had some thoughts on the styles for you boys," she says. She tugs at Louis' t-shirt, takes a step back to look at him, and then nods. "Alright. Get that off now. Liam, you're next."

"I'm ready when you are," Liam says from where he's sitting on the table, scrolling through his phone. Zayn and Niall are off with the X Factor stylists, Niall to get a touch up of his bleach and Zayn to get his hair trimmed.

Harry glances back at Louis and is quickly engrossed in the sight of him stripping off his clothes. Carole is assisting him in lifting his t-shirt over his head so he doesn't dislodge the pins, and the lovely smooth skin of his torso is revealed, inch by inch, like a slow strip-tease.

His eyes fall over Louis' lightly toned abs, curve of his waist. His lean biceps flex as he lifts his arms, his nipples peak in the slight chill of the room —

Louis is looking back an amused smirk on his lips.

Harry feels his cheeks warm, but he doesn't look away. He pinches his lower lip between his fingers as Louis starts to unbutton the jeans. He shoots Harry a look when he flicks open the top button and then turns away to tug them down. 

Harry is just getting caught up in admiration for generous curve of his arse in his Topman boxers, when he hears Carole say, "I actually thought you were bisexual, Louis."

Harry's eyes snap over to where Carole is hanging up his t-shirt. He takes a deep breath. He and Louis have changed outfits backstage a thousand times, but Harry has never really learned to be a proper professional about it. In his defense, Louis has also never learned not to be a tease.

"I... am?" Louis says after a pause.

"Well, I watched the interview from yesterday," Carole says. "You did say that—"

"I know," he interrupts.

Harry frowns. This is the second time today that someone's brought that up with Louis. He tries to remember what Louis had said in the interview.

"You know that people are going to think that you—"

"Yes, I know," Louis says flatly. Harry looks at him. His mouth is set in a thin line.

"Well, _I_ don't know," Harry tells him. "What are you talking about?"

"Louis said that they'd have to ask the three of us if they wanted a name of a female celeb," Liam offers. He sets down his phone and takes his outfit from Carole to change into.

Harry does remember that, of course he does. It just hadn't registered with him at the time.

He takes in the defensive set of Louis' jaw. That kind of slip in an interview isn't something Louis would have made on accident.

"Why—?" Harry starts to ask.

"Why do you think, Haz?" Louis finishes tugging his hoodie on and crosses his arms over his chest. He's back in the oversized hoodie he'd thrown on today. All their clothes are jumbled together in their messy One Direction dorm room. It's black and plain and Harry thinks it might actually be Liam's.

"I don't know," Harry says. Whenever they'd talked about coming out in the past, they'd never actually talked about this specifically.

"You can't honestly think anyone would believe I'm bi," Louis says sharply.

"Um, what?"

"Haz, take a look at me, mate. I couldn't look more like a fucking twink if I tried."

Harry feels his chest tighten. "Lou—"

"They'll all think I'm gay and just too afraid, too _ashamed_ , to admit it," Louis says, tension building in his voice.

Harry sees Liam shift uncomfortably. Carole is frowning, looking a bit concerned.

"And you know what?" Louis continues, unfolding and refolding his arms over his chest. "That's the best case scenario. Worst case?" He glances pointedly at Carole and then back at Harry. "They do believe it. So they decide to play up me the idea of me with girls. Make everyone forget there was ever a second gay boy in this group."

Harry hadn't even thought about that.

"Imagine this, love," Louis says, looking at him. "Imagine, hypothetically, they go to the lengths of picking out a girl for me, maybe some girl from uni, has aspirations of seeing her name in the gossip rags. Have me talk about her in every interview, make me mum and sisters take photos with her, have me papped holding _her_ hand walking down the street?"

The memory of all that makes Harry's gut twist. But still he insists, "It's different now, though, Lou. We know what we're doing. Maybe we could get our contracts to say they can't do PR relationships if we don't want—"

"Well, I'm not willing to take that fucking chance."

"Louis," Harry takes an aborted step towards him.

Louis just shakes his head, and walks out of the room. Harry glances helplessly at Carole and Liam, who both look lost, and then he goes after him.

He doesn't have to go far. He finds Louis alone in the dingy Fountain Studios hallway. Louis just looks at him for a long moment.

"Lou," Harry says.

"I'm sorry." Louis leans back, deflated, again the wall. "I knew you wouldn't like it."

"No. I mean, _I'm_ sorry," Harry says. He bites his lip. "It's your choice, I just — you shouldn't have to pretend to be anyone but who you are. I don't want that for you."

"We're in the entertainment industry, love. This is all pretend. You know that."

"But—"

"Haz, you can't honestly think I have plans to go out and shag a girl, can you?" Louis narrows blue eyes at him. "So why does it really fucking matter whether people know I'm not repulsed by a pair of tits?"

 

 

Among the show's intro clips, there's one of the five of them, from early on, before Harry came back in time. The boys are arranged around a sofa, Harry seated in the middle, between Louis in a soft bowl cut and Liam in his Justin Bieber hair. Young Harry, leaning forwards intently, declares, "We want to be the first group to win The X Factor. And that's what we intend to do."

They cut to clip of Simon in his office saying, "Seeing these five guys' faces, just going crazy when their name is called, would be the best thing ever."

Harry looks over to where Simon and the other judges are waiting at the stage entrance. Simon hasn't said a word to anyone, but his presence is certainly _felt_ in this small backstage.

Harry and the rest of the original finalists are waiting to go on after the judges for their group song. He bumps his shoulder into Louis' and exchanges a look with him, Louis offers him a small smile.

And then: "Live from London, it's The X Factor Final, with your host, Dermot O'Leary."

 

 

In the flashback clips before Grenade, there's footage of the days of home visits, but nothing of the more exciting events of the week. They don't air either version of Cheryl's clip.

Then they go on-stage and sing and Zayn nails his bridge, Niall earns them some giggles from the crowd and Louis sounds like the proper popstar he _is_ — and Harry can't wait to watch the recording later instead of trying to hear him through his crap in-ears. Afterwards, they cut to clips of crowds cheering live from Doncaster and Dublin.

The judges each give their few words. Louis Walsh mentions nothing of the press conference, just says they've come a long ways. Cheryl tells them they have very dedicated fans. Dannii says again how far they've come. Simon purses his lips and says what he's said at every past show, that he thinks this is the first time a group has a shot at winning The X Factor.

 

 

They're changing outfits before their duet when Harry remembers what Carole had hinted at earlier. He asks her, "What were your ideas for our styles, anyways?"

"We'll talk later," she promises.

"And also what did Nick want to talk to you about?" Harry asks.

"A mutual acquaintance."

"Who?"

She giggles as she shoves him out the door. "We'll talk later, Harry."

 

 

A little while later they find themselves on-stage again, waiting to hear which acts will make it through to the next day.

They stand surrounding Simon. He's still not quite looking at them. When their name is called, they cheer and hug, but none of them makes a move to hug Simon, and then they walk off-stage, trailing behind Simon, and leaving Cher as the act that didn't make it through, just like eight years ago.

 

 

Konnie ushers them back on-stage just a few minutes later for The Xtra Factor. She interviews Cher first, whose mascara is smudged with tears. Then Rebecca, who says she's surprised again to make it through, then Matt, who says his throat is feeling much better, thank you. Then she comes over to Harry and the other boys.

Harry glances at the other boys as Konnie walks over to them. Louis gives him a small nod and the other boys are all still grinning widely at making it through.

Konnie asks what it was like performing with Robbie and holds the mic to Louis.

"Well, he's my idol, _obviously_ ," Louis says. "So it was absolutely incredible."

Harry glances at him and Louis' eyes sparkle back at him. He's not sure that anyone except himself would recognize the sarcasm in his voice. Well, perhaps Zayn, who raises his eyebrows.

Konnie goes to Niall the next question. Liam says how nice it was to see all the support from home this week.

In a moment, they'll be off-stage again and shuttled home for the night. 

Konnie comes back to Harry and Louis and then turns and gestures to the Judges' Desk.

She says, "So, Simon is sat over there at the Judges' Desk. Have you got anything that you'd like to say to him right now?"

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Final - [Your Song](https://youtu.be/4LR0FzQYWYQ?t=6) / [She's The One](https://youtu.be/h_xv-pw_K9A?t=6) / ["...So, Simon is sat over there at the Judges' Desk. Have you got anything that you'd like to say to him right now?"](https://youtu.be/6wsr39zzhVA?t=221)


	26. Chapter 26

The spotlights are still rotating over the stage, a dizzy pattern of purples, blues, whites. The X Factor logo gleams on the giant monitor behind them.

In front of them, from the Judges' Desk, Simon leans back, arms crossed across his chest, a cocky smirk on his lips.

And Harry suddenly realizes why they've heard nothing from anyone today. 

Maybe ITV is hedging their bets, maybe The X Factor producers are worried, maybe Simon's associates don't want to get caught on the wrong side of public opinion.

But, for tonight, Simon Cowell is not concerned. 

Because as long as he has them up here, on The X Factor stage, speaking into X Factor microphones, they are contestants on a reality TV programme.

This is why they were brought to the conference yesterday without talking points. Why Konnie is handing them the mic, unscripted, unprepared.

The five of them are there for ratings, for a plotline. And there are no winners in reality TV.

The contest is rigged. But maybe not in the way people think.

The thunder is still rolling and lightning is striking. The reason they can't see it, is it's never going to strike here, not in this auditorium.

 

 

Liam, Niall and Zayn are all looking at them, startled and wide-eyed. But Louis' blue eyes are focused intently on him and Harry knows he is thinking the same thing.

He gives Louis a small nod.

And then Louis leans forwards into the mic and says, "What we would like to say is thank you."

Konnie keeps the mic there for another beat but Louis steps back without saying anything more.

"Thank you?" she repeats. "Alright." 

She holds the microphone out to Harry. "And you, Harry? Anything you would like to add to that?"

Harry shakes his head ruefully as he meets Simon's dark stare. 

"Simon," he says. "Thank you for everything."

 

 

_... We suspect Matt Cardle, the once-favorite to win, now still suffering the after-effects of his bout of laryngitis, hopes that his risque duet with Rihanna kept our attention from his lackluster solo..._

"Budge up, darling."

Harry grins up at Louis, and shifts to let him take a seat next to where Harry's sprawled out on the floor.

Louis settles his hand on the side of his hip and Harry leans back onto his shoulder.

"What's that?"

Harry scrolls back to the top of the article to show him the Telegraph recap of the night before. He angles his phone so Louis can read with him over his shoulder.

_...Saturday night’s X Factor final was full of entertaining moments. Sadly, not many of them came from the finalists. Even the judges’ usual bitching and bickering was absent. Because this was the final, they cast aside their critical faculties and instead even Cowell, unruffled by this week's scandals behind the scenes, settled for trotting out platitudes..._

_...Then the predictable happened: rank outsider Cher Lloyd was eliminated. We now return on Sunday night for the proper contest between the three acts who’ve been hot favourites all along..._

"Morning, Harry," Rebecca says, as she settles into the armchair across from them, tucking her skirt underneath herself. "Louis, thanks again for talking to me."

Harry knew that she and Louis had been off talking about something. Harry had been doing last-minute practice with Niall and Liam on their Torn harmonies before they'd split up to shower and get ready for their early morning ride to Fountain Studios.

"Don't reckon I actually helped you out at all there, love," Louis says, rubbing his thumb over the edge of Harry's hip.

"You did." Rebecca wraps her hands around her mug. "I think I just needed to be heard, anyways. You're a really good listener."

"I know, isn't he?" Harry agrees.

Rebecca laughs. "You were always just flitting around so much. I didn't realize you could sit still long enough to have a proper conversation."

Harry snorts out a laugh and Louis pinches him.

"Oi, I was not."

"You were," Harry informs him, trapping his hand against his side. "It's true."

"Remember that night we watched Armageddon?" Rebecca teases. "Or the fashion show?"

"I do not _flit_ ," Louis protests. "I have never _flitted_ in my life."

"No, really, though." Harry twists to look at him. "I hadn't even remembered how bad it was. How did you even survive school, Lou?"

"How did I survive _school_?" Louis repeats in mock offense. "Really, Harold, you know full well I'm only here on X Factor because my college instructors banded together and bribed Simon to pass me through auditions."

Niall cackles as he walks into the room. "Is that right?"

"It was a long shot," Louis tells him. "But their backup plan would've had me disappearing in a set of highly suspicious circumstances, so this works out for everyone, doesn't it?"

"Oh." Harry fumbles the banana Niall tosses him. "Is that why so many of our votes have come from the vicinity of Hall Cross?"

"Ofcom investigation is pending. Now, give that here, you've lost our place." Louis snatches Harry's phone. As Harry peels his banana, he scrolls back through the article, grumbling, "Seriously, Harold, if anyone is doing the flitting here, it's you."

Harry just revels in watching Louis for a moment. He doesn't think anything could make him happier than seeing him like this, relaxed, an easy, teasing smile on his face.

Niall plops down on the sofa behind them and Harry settles back down against Louis' shoulder.

_...Coming after an equally bland solo song choice, Rebecca Ferguson made a decent fist of Christina Aguilera ballad Beautiful, at least until Aguilera herself joined in...._

"Did you see all these tweets about Robbie?" Liam says, coming into the room, newly showered and dressed with his phone in his hands. "What's going on with that?"

Harry frowns and glances at the phone while Louis scrolls down.

_In light of the events of the week, it begs the question of whether 'She's the One' as their duet with Robbie Williams was a pointed choice or not. But, seeing as it lacked the salaciousness of the other two finalist's duets, it will likely be soon forgotten either way._

"They're upset because they think he chose it on purpose," Liam says.

"I don't think he even had any idea," Niall says with a laugh.

"No, he obviously didn't," Louis says. "He's a bit of a twat but he doesn't deserve to get caught in this mess."

"I thought you liked Robbie Williams," Rebecca says. She takes a sip of her tea with a frown. "You were so excited about meeting him the other week."

"Right," Louis says after a moment. "Well, I like a twattish idol."

"It shouldn't be too hard spin this, though," Harry says, already thinking.

"Not if he knows how to play along," Louis says. "Can't expect him to just pick up on it himself."

"Why don't you text him, then?" Niall suggests.

"Text him how?" Louis asks. "Have any of _you_ got his number?"

"Well, you do," Liam says.

Louis looks skeptical.

"From the other week, remember?" Harry prompts him. "When you and Zayn were talking to him at the after party."

"Alright, sure." Louis pulls his phone out of the pocket of his trackies to scroll through his contacts.

Harry takes his own phone back and continues reading, distantly aware of Rebecca and Niall continuing to chat.

_But for five boys who have had quite a week behind the scenes, they managed to turn out one of the stand-out performances of the night. Their passionate high-energy Bruno Mars offering was no exception to their consistent trajectory of improvement on this programme._

_Unsurprisingly, there was no on-air acknowledgement of any of scandals surrounding Cowell and his management of his fledgling boyband._

_The closest moment came on ITV4's[] programme, in which Konnie Huq asked the boys what they would like to say to their mentor. But all they had to say was thank you._

_To those disappointed with the lack of dramatics, however, recall that this is a series that gleefully opened with a punch-up between two off-key auditionees, kept in a tastelessly gimmicky contestant until eighth live show, and ensured the contestant who'd been billed all along as the serious singer-songwriter would be remembered rather for a cheap, raunchy duet with Rihanna. Perhaps restraint is the most subversive choice of all._

"Restraint is the most subversive choice of all," Harry repeats out loud, biting back a proud smile.

"Oh, you're reading that one from the Telegraph?" Liam asks, bending over to tie his shoes. "I was surprised you two didn't say more than that last night. I could see Harry, but Louis—"

"And what would we have said, lads?" Louis asks. Harry can hear the fatigue enter his voice again.

"How about what a bloody wanker Simon is," Zayn says. "That seems like it'd be a good start."

Harry glances up at where Zayn and Matt are coming into the lounge. Zayn takes a seat next to Niall behind them. 

Matt snorts as he collapses into the armchair next to Rebecca's. "I'm sure that would've gone over well."

"Plus we're not allowed to say anything against Simon," Rebecca says. "That's in our contracts specifically."

"Reckon we're a bit past worrying about breaking our NDAs here," Louis says dryly. A ding comes from his phone and he tilts it so Harry can see. "Robbie's on board. Do the honors, love?"

Harry nods and turns back to his phone. As he scrolls through their mentions to find an appropriate one about their duet to reply to, he feels Louis comb his fingers through his hair.

"Why didn't you say anything, then?" Liam asks. "We were live. You could've said anything."

"And where were we standing at the time, lads? Whose cameras were on us?" Louis tugs at one of Harry's curls. "There are no winners in reality telly."

"Well, there'll be _one_ winner tonight," Matt comments.

"Yeah and _his_ name's Simon Cowell," Louis says. "You'd do well to remember that."

Matt raises his eyebrows. "Would I? And this is coming from the act who's supposed to win tonight."

"Look, mate, here's how it goes." Louis sits up straighter and raises one finger. "First place. You get a mediocre Christmas single, a million quid for an album that never gets promoted and a nice cozy space on Syco's shelf for the next few years."

Matt frowns.

"Second place." Louis holds up a second finger. "You build your fanbase out of whoever's bitter that you should've won. Maybe you get a contract with someone else, maybe Simon 'imself, doesn't matter. Whoever it is invests the least amount in you they possibly can because they know it's a matter of time before your music flops and you're forgotten. Five years from now you don't even make the where are they now lists of X Factor winners."

Everyone's eyes are on Louis and Louis just keeps going. He holds up a third finger. "Third place. Now, if you get third, congratulations, this is the spot reserved for the act that had actual potential. But you don't know it, because you were voted off. When the time comes that you're offered a contract, you're so desperate to sign that you don't bother reading any of what they put in front of you."

"Are you saying you think it is rigged after all?" Rebecca's brow is creased in a frown, cup of tea clasped in her lap.

"Of course it's fucking rigged," Louis says.

"But—" Liam starts.

"Look, maybe Ofcom's watching too close to fudge the actual numbers, who knows, but you best believe it's rigged in every way they can get away with it," Louis says. "It's right in front of you. Look at last week. We all knew Mary got the most votes, but Simon threw them out and decided to keep Cher because a teenage girl with lewd raps is going to get more viewers."

"Look," Matt says. "Obviously, you're feeling cynical right now—"

"There are no winners on The X Factor," Louis interrupts him sharply. "No winners, mate. You want to win, you get the fuck off that stage."

 

 

" _... We do wonder at the wisdom of the anti-X Factor group's recommendation to vote for One Direction. They're already bookies' favorite to win tonight. Doesn't that just mean money to line in Simon Cowell's pocket?_ " - Metro, 12 Dec 2010

" _Even if, after a proper analysis, the hacked video does turn out to be legitimate, there's a still the question of context. Cowell is the boys' mentor, not their friend, not their parent. He offered them an opportunity they could only dream of. His sole responsibility was to make his act successful. He did so the best way he, an undisputed expert in this field, knew how._ " - The Sun, 12 Dec 2010

 

 

"You're sensible, dependable, caring. Your outfits are simple but smart," Carole says. "You were the easiest."

"Um, thank you. I think?" Liam peers down at the blazer, polo and light-colored trousers she's holding up against him.

"You're welcome," she says. "Now, Niall—"

Niall perks up from beside Harry on the dressing room sofa.

"What am I?" he asks. "Sexy, suave—?"

Carole laughs. "You're five boys in a fledging boyband. Sorry to disappoint, but none of you gets to be the 'sexy' one for at least a couple of years."

"The bad boy, then?" Niall asks curiously.

"The cute one, how's that," Carole says. She hands him a hoodie and jeans. "Easy, casual, a bit sporty."

Niall shrugs. He doesn't look unhappy with it. Harry meets Louis' eyes as he walks back across the dressing room and holds out an oat bar for him. Harry takes it gratefully. Louis plops down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder and a leg over his lap.

Harry rests a hand on his thigh, and can't resist giving the muscle of it a squeeze.

"Feels like our first day at Hogwarts," Zayn says, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Got a proper sorting hat?"

"Sorry to disappoint." Carole leans back against the table and adjusts the ponytail holding her long curly hair. "For the record, I'm dressing you for the night, not sorting you into Gryffindor or Slytherin here. I'm just trying to establish some identifiable image for you boys since no one else is doing that job."

She reaches behind herself and holds up a black blazer. "Now, Zayn, Harry was quite insistent that you not be associated with anything mysterious or dangerous—"

"Harry's right," Louis says.

"I can see why that was his image when you did this before, though," she continues. "I told you it was easiest to choose public images that are close to how you'd act naturally. You do come off rather aloof, a bit sarcastic—"

"He's shy and he has a sense of humor," Louis interrupts. "What in that means that he needs to be called a terrorist every time he gets on a transatlantic flight?"

Harry entreats, "You can't market the only one of us that's not white, and that's Muslim, as the dangerous one." He'd thought she'd understood. "It's not—"

"Boys," she stops him, folding her arms over her chest. "As the only other 'not white' person in this room right now, I don't believe I need you to lecture me on this particular issue. Unless you expect me to believe that _I_ was the one who suggested that?"

Harry glances at Louis.

"Er, I don't actually remember how it happened," Harry says. "I think he just kind of fell into it?"

"Don't recall we had proper conversations about this until later," Louis says.

"Just little hints," Harry says.

"Yeah, just hints dropped here and there," Louis says. "Not a lot more than that until, what, next summer? When it was time to do proper promo for the first time?"

Harry nods.

Louis looks back at Carole. "This point in our 2010, reckon we were just relieved you weren't putting us in matching parachute trousers."

Carole laughs and shakes her head. "No parachute trousers. But, boys, if you'd let me finish, I wasn't arguing with you."

"And, you know, it might be nice if you didn't talk about me like I'm not sat right here," Zayn says. "Also, I'm not _shy_."

Louis raises his eyebrows at him.

"I do like the idea of making him the flirt, though," Carole says.

"That was Louis' idea," Harry reminds everyone.

Louis shoots him a look. "Was it now?"

"And fashionable," Carole continues. "Flirty and fashionable. Not dangerous. Maybe aloof, but with a softer side. I think that's enough to go on to start."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Yeah, that's fine."

He stands up to take the hanger with the blazer, shirt and trousers on it.

"Trendy, but simple, too," she says. "Even if we _could_ afford designer clothing on our budget, we need you to be relatable."

"Are you saying our poor Hazza doesn't get to wear Gucci?" Louis asks, teasingly poking Harry's shoulder.

Carole shakes her head. "You and Harry are going to be even more of a challenge than Zayn here, aren't you?"

"You mean because they're gay?" Niall looks unhappy about it.

"Why is it even that big a deal?" Liam asks.

Carole rolls her eyes. "I meant because they're apparently twenty-something popstars pretending to be teenagers. But, yes, that, too."

"What do you have for me?" Harry asks, leaning forwards to try to peer at the clothing that's still on the rack behind her. "You had me in a plaid shirt yesterday, remember?"

"Yes, Harry, of course I remember." She laughs. "But, look, first off, everything I said before about being close to your actual personalities. I don't know how well that's going to work for you two."

"Why?" Liam asks. "Obviously you've already worked this out in the future. What were you wearing then?"

"Tracksuits." Harry points to Louis.

"Gucci." Louis points back at Harry.

Niall laughs.

"I had an endorsement," Harry mumbles.

"You had more than an endorsement deal, love. You were a proper model. And last time I saw this lad—" Louis directs his words at the others as he looks him up and down thoughtfully. "He was headlining Madison Square Garden in a Gucci suit. All florals and flares, proper flamboyant rockstar."

"Yeah." Harry smiles back at him, feeling warm under the attention. "It was a woman's fit but custom-made." He points at his sleeve, as if Louis could see it in the fabric of his Jack Wills hoodie. "It had the words 'jardin d'hiver' on it. Don't know if anyone noticed, but get it? Garden, like, Madison Square Garden?"

"Jesus Christ." Louis smiles at him fondly. "You've still haven't met a pun you could resist, have you?"

"Wait." Harry cuts him off suddenly. "What do you mean that was the last time you saw me? That was right before I came back in time."

"Well, was right before I woke up here, too, wasn't it?" Louis says. He looks up at the others and continues, "Then there was me, a proper chav in tracksuits, a cigarette and bottle of beer in me hand—"

"Lou," Harry interrupts him.

"Not quite boyband material, see. And since we couldn't possibly afford to keep this one in custom Gucci," he pats Harry's shoulder in emphasis. "Doubt that our fashion eight years from now is going to help us out much here, Payno."

"No, I reckon not, then," Liam says, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Well," Carole says. "Everyone knows that Harry's quirky. That's been his thing—"

" _That's_ been my thing?" Harry repeats. "In 2010?"

"You're saying you weren't quirky in 2010?" Louis asks, looking amused.

"Yeah, but—"

"Quirky, sweet, sincere," Carole says. "Louis mentioned britpop to me the other day and it gave me some ideas."

Harry stands up and takes the hanger she gives him. It's just jeans and a black polo with red stripes around the sleeves. Nothing that stands out too much.

"Huh," he says. Then he looks back up. "What about Louis?"

"Louis is a bit harder to pin down, isn't he?" Carole says.

"What's so hard about it?" Louis sprawls back on the sofa, false casual air in his body language. "If the band needs a bad boy, that's me, obviously."

"What?" Harry frowns at Carole. "We don't need that." He looks back at Louis. "And you think that's _you_?"

"I agree with you, Harry," Carole says. "If you had let me finish earlier, I would have said the same thing."

"But why do you think that's _you_?" Harry repeats.

"Seriously?" Louis says. "It's obviously me—"

Liam's phone dings loud in the dressing room. "Oh, sorry, that's — it looks like Konnie's looking for us." He looks up at Carole. "We're supposed to be filming that skit about the spiders."

"Hooray," Niall mutters.

"That's fine," Carole tells him. "Go on, then."

"But we need to talk more about Louis," Harry protests.

 

 

"Look what the Daily Mail just put up." Liam turns around from the middle row of the van to face them. " _Attempting to provide context around the leaked video, an inside source says the boys had initially acted like coming out as gay was a prank. It wouldn't have been surprising coming from them. So Simon attempted to mitigate the damage. When they finally revealed that it wasn't a prank, he made every effort to be supportive, but the boys_ —"

"Did whoever wrote that even watch the video? That doesn't even make sense with anything he said in it," Zayn says.

"Probably just posted whatever press package Simon sent them," Harry mutters.

"Do you think people will believe this?" Liam looks from Harry to Louis. "That Simon was just trying to help us?"

"I think people will believe that there's room to give him the benefit of a doubt," Harry says, careful not to speak too loudly so their driver can't overhear.

"People believe what they're told to believe," Louis says, tapping an impatient finger on his leg. "It doesn't matter what's true."

"And it would take a lot more than truth to truly bring Simon down, anyways," Harry says. "He'll spin this however he wants. We knew that."

"But if Louis Walsh was worried, then—"

"We're not going to bring Simon Cowell down, lads," Louis emphasizes. "Don't get your hopes too far up 'ere."

"All that matters is that—" Harry says.

"That we get out alive," Niall finishes for him.

"Right." Harry bites his thumbnail.

"And that's easier said than done, innit," Louis says as the van takes another turn. "Now, where t'fuck are we even going?" He jostles Harry a little as he cranes his neck to look out the window. "Is this Covent-fucking-Garden?"

They'd been intercepted on their way to a signing with fans by a couple of X Factor PAs, who, without answering any questions about where they were going or why, shortly had them bundled into one of the vans.

Harry has only come up with two possibilities for why they're in this van right now. One, that they're off to some top-secret interview or, two, that Simon has summoned them to a last-minute meeting. Seeing as the timing doesn't make much sense for them to be doing an interview now and as Harry hasn't heard of Simon having arrived at Fountain Studios yet, the second is highly more likely.

And so, especially after it became clear to the other boys that something like this had not happened last time, they've all spent the drive more than a little on edge.

But they had been waiting for that other shoe to drop, after all.

"You know, people are going to notice a suspicious disappearance ahead of the final," Louis speaks up loudly to remind the driver, and not for the first time.

The driver, well used to Louis by this late in the series, just laughs with her usual aplomb. "We'll have you back for the show, Louis, don't worry." And then the van stops at the curb. "And, look, we're already here."

Louis exchanges a suspicious look with Harry before they climb out into the drizzly gray London afternoon.

"We're here again?" Liam asks, frowning up at the sign over the door.

"They're not going to want us to sing, are they?" Niall asks.

"How do you know this place?" Louis asks.

"Yeah, how?" Zayn says.

"This is where we did that secret gig, remember?" Niall looks over at Louis but directs his answer to Zayn. "You know, the day you were back at home 'cause your granddad—"

"There you are! Finally."

Harry looks up to see Pattie stepping out the front doors to The Hospital Club.

 

 

Apparently there was a third option. Because the man sitting at the table in the restaurant of the exclusive members-only industry club is not Simon, and not from the press. But Henry Gomery, co-founder of Modest! Management, and co-star of their leaked video.

"Hello, hello, boys." He gives them a jovial smile and clasps their hands one by one in his own beefy one. "Please have a seat."

"What are we doing here?" Louis demands.

"Having tea. Aren't you hungry?"

"A little bit," Niall says, peering around the room.

"No," Zayn says flatly.

"Well, please do have a seat, anyways, boys. Don't want you tired ahead of your show tonight. Simon would not be pleased," Henry says.

"Simon's not coming?" Harry blurts out as he sinks down stiffly into the chair at the table.

It's a Sunday, but there are enough people here in the restaurant that Harry thinks he actually recognizes a few faces.

"I'm sure he's far too busy on a day like today," Henry says lightly.

"As are we." Louis takes the seat next to Harry's. He nudges his knee against his under the table. "We actually have rehearsal coming up in—" He glances at his phone. "Forty-seven minutes. Think you can get us back in time?"

"I'm sure it will all work out," Henry says vaguely.

Louis had made no bones about exploiting Sandeep's guilt to arrange them extra rehearsal time on-stage this afternoon.

"Why did you bring us here again?" Louis asks.

"I thought it would be appropriate, since we'd had such a friendly introduction when we first met here," Henry says. "Boys, at Modest Management — oh, here we are." The waiter arrives to slip a platter of tea sandwiches on the center of the table. "Perfect, thank you. Now, at Modest, we're fortunate to count some true stars among our clients. We have Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS—"

"Yes, we're aware you have exclusive rights for X Factor finalists." Louis snatches a sandwich, but Harry catches him wrinkling his nose as he goes to take a bite. Harry peers over to see he's taken a cucumber one. 

Harry takes it from his hand and replaces it something that looks more promising for having meat in it.

Henry, who was watching them with apparent interest, finally continues, "Then you know that we already consider the five of you as one of our clients."

"Obviously," Louis says. "Are you going to tell us something we don't know?"

"Well, as our client, we have your best interests at heart—"

"Now, that actually _is_ something we didn't know," Louis says. "And I thought all you had at heart was twenty percent of our revenues."

Henry sits back in his chair and looks at him for a moment before saying, "I worry things have gone a bit awry in our relationship."

"And whose fault is that," Zayn grumbles under his breath.

Harry glances around at the room. He does recognize a few industry faces here.

Henry didn't come off nearly as bad as the others in the video of Simon's office that morning, but in an industry where so many of the execs are gay, there's a difference between profiting from closeting performers and perceived as homophobic. And Henry isn't nearly as powerful a figure as Simon. He's not going to be able to brush it off so easily.

Plus, while he and Simon are thick as thieves, there's no loyalty in this business. And having a very friendly, very public lunch with them without Simon present will go at least some way towards helping Henry's own image.

Harry yawns behind his hand and glances at his phone. He just hopes he doesn't see the need to keep them for much longer. If they leave in the next few minutes, they could make it back for their rehearsal time.

"Then you also know that when it comes to recording contracts, Syco has right of first refusal," Henry is saying.

Louis just takes another bite of his sandwich and doesn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, but Liam says, cautiously, "We did know that."

"And we also know that it's three months before we can sign with someone else," Harry says, hoping to cut this short.

"Three months if Syco doesn't offer you a contract," Henry says. "If they offer you one, even if you don't accept it — well, that would complicate matters."

Harry grits his teeth in annoyance. If he has to sit through a lunch as props in rehabilitating Henry Gomery's image, the least Henry could do is not spend it lording their powerlessness over them.

"You know," Henry continues conversationally. "A contract doesn't always mean you'll actually get to make music. Sometimes a contract means you can't make music with anyone else."

"Again with the information we already know," Louis tells him.

 

 

"Now, don't worry, I'm sure everything will work out in the end," Henry says as he finally, after many minutes more chatting, and Harry sulking at him, stands up to say good-bye.

"You know, I'm actually not all that worried," Louis says breezily.

Henry seems thrown for the first time that day. "You're not?"

Louis shrugs. "Might've been, if we'd met us in Simon's office again."

"It _was_ a bit stuffy in there, don't you think?" Henry agrees blandly.

"But, seeing as you brought us here, without Simon, in plain view, in the middle of the day, where anyone could see—"

Harry looks at Louis in confusion. Surely he'd figured out the reason for that as well as Harry had and it doesn't necessarily mean anything good for them.

"No," Louis corrects himself. "Where anyone _would_ see. And by anyone, I mean," He tilts his head in the direction of a table just out of their earshot. "Leo Fulton, the director of Sony's UK A &R." He looks meaningfully across the room at another table. "Adrien Peck, the head of European, Chavez and Cooke from Columbia." He glances around the room again. "Among others. This is quite a surprising hotspot for a Sunday afternoon."

"They'll be screening a private preview of —" Henry smiles a little, shaking his head. "You know what, I do think the release information's meant to still be secret. And Leo's only assistant director, by the way."

"Ah, my mistake. Someday, perhaps."

Henry watches at him thoughtfully for a long moment. "You have quite an eye for the players in the music business, don't you."

"I'm a fast learner," Louis says.

He makes to leave and Harry and the other boys move to follow, but Henry puts a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Louis gives him an impatient look.

"The prize for winning The X Factor is a million pound contract with Syco," Henry says in a low voice. "That's a contract offer."

Louis laughs.

"Really, mate, where did you hear that? Did Dermot let it slip?" He gives him a wave as he turns to leave. "Ta for t'sarnies, mate."

 

 

"What was that even about?" Liam hisses as he clambers into the backseat of the van with Harry and Louis.

Zayn twists around in the seat in front of them. "Did he really drag us all the way across London to brag about how they're in charge and there's nothing we can do. What a fucking waste of time."

"Yeah, but they were good sandwiches," Niall says. "Maybe a bit small, though. Was hungrier than I thought."

"Are you serious—"

"It was a joke." Niall collapses back into his seat. "Fecking hell."

"Maybe this meeting was Henry's way of warning us not to do anything stupid?" Liam suggests.

Harry is about to explain, but Louis speaks first.

"I rather think that was his way to warning us _to_ do something stupid," Louis says. "Even if he doesn't know quite what that is."

Harry turns back to look at him, furrowing his brow. "What?"

"Don't you think, Haz?"

"I—" Harry isn't following. He repeats, "What?"

"Lads," Louis says. "What do you reckon twenty percent of nothing comes out to be?"

 

 

"Modest gets all the X Factor finalists," Louis says. "Syco, too, unless they're generous enough to send them elsewhere or they don't get a contract at all. Who knows better than our friend Henry how this works? Simon squeezes one or two songs out of his artists then puts them on a shelf. Most of them aren't going to make it anyways, so it doesn't matter. Modest isn't losing anything when they weren't going to make them money in the first place."

Liam frowns. "All right?"

"Henry brought us there to not only distance himself from Simon or get our faces seen in front of execs at labels that aren't Syco," Louis says. "But because—"

"He thinks we're worth something," Harry says slowly, finally understanding.

"He thinks that twenty percent's going to be twenty percent of a large number," Louis agrees.

"Even though there are two gay boys in this boyband," Harry says.

Louis gives him a small smile. "Yeah, Hazza."

Harry shakes his head at Louis, disbelieving. They were told for years it wouldn't work, by so many people, by Henry himself.

"That's grand and all," Niall cuts in. "But we're still going to be stuck with Syco."

"If they make us an offer," Louis says.

"If we win tonight, they'll be automatically making us an offer," Zayn points out. "That's what Henry just said."

"So, what, we sabotage ourselves?" Niall asks. "Sing off pitch, hope they don't turn the auto-tune back on?"

"Or we could just refuse to sing," Zayn says. "That'll make a statement."

"Refusing to sing — it feels like that could backfire, though," Harry says. Not performing when fans are expecting them to feels like the wrong way to start a career.

"But even if we don't win, Simon could still make us an offer?" Liam says. "And a worse one? We wouldn't even get a Christmas single."

"Who knows, lads," Louis says, looking out the window at the gray London roads. "Maybe this will be something we can't change and we were always meant for third."

"Do you think so?" Liam asks.

Louis shakes his head, taking his gaze from the passing London roads and looks at the boys. "We weren't bookies' favorite last time."

"So we just do our best," Harry says. "We sing and hope people like it. And—"

"And we've got nothing to lose," Louis says, giving Harry a quick smile.

"Nothing to lose," Harry repeats.

 

 

Sugarscape @sugarscape 12 Dec 2010  
Watch our interview with our new favorite Styles — Gemma! Ahead of the final results show, get the lowdown on the curly boybander's very first Valentine.

Dermot O'Leary @radioleary 12 Dec 2010  
Anyone know @onedirection's post address? I need an address for the invoice for silly string cleanup costs.

Lea Michele @LeaMichele 12 Dec 2010  
Good luck to @onedirection from me and @chriscolfer! X Factor won't let us vote from America. To all our Glee fans in the UK, please vote extra for us!

 

 

"Gemma says that Sugarscape just posted a teaser for their interview." Harry stares down at his phone in bewilderment. "That means The X Factor must have given them the okay."

"Well, you noticed they did air that clip that Cheryl did, right?" Liam says.

Harry and Liam are waiting in the hallway for their turn at getting last minute hair touch-ups before their performance. In the long montage of clips of The X Factor series, they'd not only included the one of Cheryl praising them, but of him and Louis coming out last week.

"Dermot replied to us from the other day, too," Liam says. 

"Replied to what?"

"Confessing to silly stringing his dressing room. Also Louis Walsh from the press conference the other day is going viral," Liam says. "And what is—" He tilts his phone for Harry to see. "Do you know who they are?"

Harry looks at him. "It's an American magazine? They're only online, I think."

"' _What the heck is happening in the UK?_ '" Liam reads off. " _You may know Simon Cowell as that ornery judge from American Idol, but in England they know him as that ornery judge from The X Factor._ "

Harry reads over his shoulder.

_One Direction is a boyband, specifically a boyband that Cowell put together of five boys who were rejected from the reality talent show's early rounds._

_Well, fast forward three months and they've survived multiple rounds of eliminations to make it all the way to the final show._

_They're surprisingly good, but don't get too excited. You can't watch them. The X Factor doesn't air outside the UK._

_However, what you can watch is the interesting little video in the link below. The boys were apparently recording a fan message when they were called into a meeting with Mr. Cowell himself. They forgot to turn off the recording (oops) and then their phone was hacked (oops again) and then it was posted online by an anti-X Factor Facebook group._

_If you're about to complain that things like this ever happen on American Idol, don't worry! Cowell is set to start airing America's own version of The X Factor coming next fall!_

"Nothing like this happened last time, did it?" Liam asks.

 

 

They're lined up on the catwalk on the dark stage. Liam in the center, Harry and Louis on either side of them, Zayn and Niall on the ends.

They're a good six feet off the ground. Harry feels for Niall, but he at least seems less anxious now than he had in rehearsals.

More flashback clips are playing on the monitor behind them and the crowd is cheering. Harry hears them singing Grenade yesterday, and then Simon's voice.

" _They entered this competition to win. And I genuinely, with all my heart, believe they deserve it._ "

Then Liam: " _It's so strange to think that we actually got a 'no' at first and that's the moment that we were put together. We've come such a long way since then._ "

Then Zayn: " _If we won, our lives would change forever. I think we're all ready for our lives to change._ "

And then the whoosh of the X Factor theme and: "One... Diiiirection!"

As the opening notes for Torn play, the stage lights up in reds and oranges.

_Thought I saw a girl, brought to life_

Liam has the opening verse. He does it well and on-key, just as he had since their first time singing it at Judges' Houses. But it's both more relaxed and more emotional this time. 

Harry knows part of that is Liam and part of that is the time Louis has worked with him on it this week.

Then Harry takes the next part. He wouldn't have had trouble with this weeks ago, but he's more comfortable in his body now. He doesn't have to be as attentive. The belting, the emotion, the performance comes easily tonight.

_I don't care I've had no luck / I don't miss it all that much_

Not only is Louis' mic on this time, they'd added back in a verse to their arrangement to give him a solo. And he sounds so _good_. Harry doesn't even try to stop himself from smiling.

Zayn ends it with, _I'm already / I'm already torn_ And then they harmonize on a final _torn_.

Even through his cheap in-ears, Harry knows they nailed it.

It sounds like the crowd does to.

The last time they'd sung Torn together as a group was after Zayn left, was after he and Louis had broken up, was just a few weeks before the band had broken up. But tonight, they're not at the end of their time together. 

He wraps his arm around a grateful Niall's shoulders to walk down the catwalk steps to the sound of the crowd's cheers.

They're at the very beginning again.

 

 

There are platitudes from the judges' about how far they've come. There is Simon saying, without making eye contact, that they could be the first group to win. There are streams of cheering crowds in Wolverhampton and Dermot entreating the public to vote.

There are long breaks for adverts. There's Rebecca's soulful Sweet Dreams. More adverts, then a tastelessly terrible group song by rejected auditionees — including the two girls who'd brawled on-stage, which was all gleefully recapped in the video clips. 

And then they're back on-stage.

 

 

"After the break," Dermot says. "We go from three to two as the act with the fewest votes leaves the competition."

The five of them stand with Simon, but apart from him, just like the night before. 

Harry catches the movement of Louis' hand out of the corner of his eye, as if he's about to reach out to him. But Louis stops, stills, and then clasps his hands together, keeping a careful distance between them.

Eighteen-year-old Louis would have had his arms easily around Harry, hugging him tight, maybe rested his chin on his shoulder. The last time twenty-six-year-old Louis has touched him on camera was a week ago, on The Xtra Factor, when Louis had slung his arm over his shoulder as he'd outed them both. 

And, as much as the actual events were a blur, Harry's seen the footage and it had been determined, deliberate, and mostly to get Harry in front of the mic before Konnie pulled it away.

Harry has wondered if Louis realized how different he is in this from his eighteen-year-old self. But, from the careful set of his jaw as he looks away, it's obvious that he does know. 

Of course he knows.

Harry thinks about years of avoiding each other on-stage, practicing until it came naturally. He thinks about that night, when they'd come home and sat on opposite ends of their own sofa.

He thinks about the look of horror on Louis' face when he'd realized what they'd done.

He thinks about Niall confronting him after he was back in the past for only a week, telling him how Louis had looked hurt every time Harry avoided him when the cameras were nearby.

He thinks about how, in another life, he has no doubt that he and Louis would've been the most nauseatingly affectionate couple to have ever existed.

And Harry thinks, fuck _another life_. _This_ is another life.

Harry steps behind Louis and wraps his arm around his waist.

Louis glances back at him, eyes widening briefly. But when Harry meets his blue eyes, light in the spotlight, his lips twitch into a small smile and a softness comes over his expression.

There's a cheer from some part of the crowd. Amidst all the other cheering tonight, it's nothing remarkable. But Harry still wonders if it's possible that it's for himself and Louis. Wonders if it would be crazy to think that there were people, even this far back, not just shipping their 'bromance', but actually rooting for them.

As Louis looks forwards to Dermot again, he leans his weight back against Harry. Harry squeezes his arms around him tight.

They must be back from the adverts because Dermot begins speaking. He reminds the audience that voting lines are frozen, then draws out re-introductions on-stage and then—

"The public have voted. I'm about to reveal which acts have received the most votes and will compete head-to-head on the X Factor final, and which act has received the fewest votes, finished third, and will be leaving the competition tonight."

The crowd is cheering excitedly. Harry looks at the other boys huddled next to them, staring at Dermot in various degrees of nervousness.

"Good luck to everyone," Dermot adds.

Eight years ago, this was it for them. Dermot hadn't called their name, they'd finished third, walked off-stage, believed Simon's words that only the winner would get signed.

They hadn't picked up on any of the clues of how much had been invested in them, hadn't realized there was no way Simon was letting them go.

Tonight, Harry doesn't know whether having their name called would be a good or bad thing. Doesn't know if this is even something he and Louis could've changed. But he still finds himself fiercely not wanting to walk off this stage yet tonight.

Dermot continues, "In no particular order, the first act through to the next state of the final is..."

Simon is standing impassively next to them. Matt is across the stage next to Dannii. Rebecca is clasping and unclasping her hands next to Cheryl.

"Matt!"

The crowd cheers, Matt pump his fist in the air and hugs Dannii.

Harry exchanges looks with the other boys.

"So," Dermot says. "It's between One Direction and Rebecca now. One of you has made it to the top two, and one of you is out of the competition."

Rebecca gives a tight smile across the stage.

"The second act still in the final is..." The crowd's cheers get more frantic. Niall clasps his hands in front of his mouth. "One Direction!"

 

 

"Holy shit," Harry says. "Holy shit. We made it, Lou."

"Yeah, we made it," Louis says, eyes sparkling in amusement.

"We actually changed something."

"We've changed a lot of things, love," Louis says, pushing the door to the empty dressing room closed behind them.

Harry knows that. But this feels more concrete, more definite. It feels huge.

"This is different, though," Harry insists.

"I know." Louis is smiling and he lets Harry pull him into a kiss.

"We might win this," Harry whispers.

Louis strokes his thumb down Harry's cheek. "Of course we're going to fucking win this." 

Harry kisses him again. He says, against his lips. "I love you." 

Louis pulls back to look at him. "Darling, I love you so fucking much."

"We might win."

"You already said that," Louis says with a laugh.

It's one thing to be told they're still bookies' favorite, one thing to realize the significance of Henry meeting them at The Hospital Club, but after being told for years that they would never make it as a boyband with two gay members, it's hard to believe that no matter how well they sang, that people would vote for a boyband with two gay members.

But now they've made it further than they did last time. Last time, when they were still in the closet.

For all that winning might complicate everything, it still doesn't feel like a bad thing.

 

 

By the time Carole gets them into their new outfits, Richard fixes their hair again, and Grace's assistants touch up their stage makeup, they've gone through two more advert breaks and now Matt's on-stage, getting feedback from the judges on When We Collide, which ended up being his winner's single eight years ago.

"We're in the top two," Liam repeats for the third time since they've rejoined each other in the backstage corridor.

"Still can't believe we made it," Niall says.

"I know people have been saying it but it's finally sinking in — we could actually win," Liam says.

Zayn is looking nervous, too, leaning against the dark wall. "Is it even a good thing?" 

"Don't know," Louis says. He intercepts Niall's nervous pacing and hugs his arm around his shoulders. "But we're going to smash this either way, lads."

He reaches out to adjust the short, striped sleeves of Harry's polo.

 

 

Harry and the other boys start apart from each other on the dark stage.

As the opening notes to Forever Young play, the spotlight on Liam lights up.

One by one, as each of rest of them come in, their own spotlights come on. 

When they get to the bridge, Liam sings, _So many adventures couldn't happen today._

Zayn sings, _So many songs we forgot to play_.

Niall sings, _So many dreams swinging out of the blue_.

Harry sings, _We'll let 'em come true_.

And Louis leads them in the final chorus.

 

 

When Dermot calls their name, their families, who they've been kept too busy to see until now, all rush out onto the stage. Harry's caught up in his mother's and Gemma's arms. Harry watches Jay catch Louis in a hug — the excitement of the moment overriding the unusual carefulness they had with each other the other night. And then Jay drags Niall into a hug, too.

Zayn's mother and father are there, his mother with her arms around him and Liam's more stoic parents standing next to him.

Matt comes over to give them congratulatory hugs. And then Rebecca and all the other top twelve finalists join them on-stage. Lights sparkle over them and screams and cheers of the audience echo through the auditorium.

Finally Dermot finds them in the center of the excited crowd of families and contestants. 

"So, boys, congratulations," he says, over the roar of the crowd. "You made it. Your single's going to be released and hopefully—" He holds up his crossed fingers. "—will make it to Christmas number one."

Harry and the others nod.

"Not only that, but you've just won a million pound recording contract with Simon Cowell's own record label," he says. "How does that feel?"

Harry glances at Louis and the other boys. Thinks about their huddle before they'd come back on-stage for the final results.

Just a few minutes ago, Harry had whispered to the other boys, "This is all pretend."

He'd stared meaningfully into Louis' blue eyes across the huddle.

"The X Factor," he'd said. "The entertainment industry. It's all pretend."

He'd seen the moment Louis had realized what Harry meant.

"No one's seen the X Factor contracts," Louis had confirmed in a whisper. "About to start the fifteenth season and they still haven't been leaked."

 

 

"It feels amazing, truly amazing," Liam says over the cheers of the crowd. "Thank you to all our fans and everyone who voted."

Zayn and Niall echo him.

Then Harry takes Dermot's microphone. He feels Louis' arm tighten around his waist and he tells the cameras and the cheering fans, "Thank you so much for letting us make music for you."

 

 

Eight years and two months on and Harry had finally realized that, when it came down to it, maybe it was so simple after all.

 

 

"Yes, thank you to all of you," Louis says into Dermot's microphone. "But we have to decline the prize."

Simon visibly stiffens. The crowd's cheers falter.

"Pardon?" Dermot blinks. "What did you just say, Louis?"

 

 

"Alright, lads," Louis had asked them. "Who's in for a game of make believe?"

 

 

Eight years ago: The X Factor 2010 - Final - [Torn](https://youtu.be/kZFrM2FTyBA?t=68)


	27. Chapter 27

"Please?" Harry entreats as he drags Louis through the dressing room door.

"Haz—"

" _Louis_ ," he whines again as he flicks on the light and shoves the door closed behind them. He looks into the steady blue eyes that belong to the love of his life and tells him, "I'll probably die if you don't let me. You've made me wait so long, Lou."

"Is this Simon Cowell's dressing room?"

Which is not what Harry had been expecting him to say. But, still, it's not a 'no'.

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Harry asks as he tugs at the waist of Louis' jeans.

"Does it matter?" Louis' voice goes high and incredulous. "It matters if I can't get it up!"

"You can't get it up?" Harry asks, more concerned about this development. But then he slides his hand over the crotch of Louis' jeans. "You're already—"

"Not for long," Louis cuts him off. "Not when it fucking reeks of him in here."

"How do you know what Simon smells like?" Harry demands, wrinkling his nose.

But now that he's paying attention, he can make out the acrid note of Simon Cowell's cologne. He turns his attention away from Louis to the oversized dressing room, the suits on the hangers, the large array of facial cleansers on the makeup table, the muted flat-screen TV on the wall where Konnie is chatting with the judges. There are TV awards on the shelves, a giant black and white art print of Simon Cowell's face...

"No, I changed my mind," Louis says. "You can suck me off. I'll just stare into my true love's face while you do it."

Harry frowns. "Maybe we should go somewhere else."

"Do you think?" Louis raises his eyebrows. He looks pretty and happy — and also like he's not trying very hard to suppress his amusement.

"You'll still let me blow you, though?" Harry asks hopefully.

 

 

"About time." Harry's mother looks him over in the backstage. "Where were you two?"

"Um," Harry says. Louis' lips are pressed together, suppressing a smile, eyes sparkling under the slant of his fringe.

"I don't think I want to know," Zayn says dryly.

"Why?" Liam asks. 

Gemma snorts out a laugh. Harry shoots her a glare that just makes her laugh harder.

Jay appears from behind them and wraps her arms around Louis' waist. "So proud of you darling!"

"Thanks, mum," Louis says softly. "Where are the girls?"

"With your dad," she says. "I'm sure you'll want to see him, too. It's been so long."

"Right," Louis says, voice going flat.

The last Harry knew in the future, Louis still hadn't had more than occasional contact with his stepfather. But his mother and Mark aren't even divorced yet in this time.

"Look, they want us on with Konnie in a minute." Liam comes from around the corner to join them. "Do you think she'll ask us about what we just did?"

Gemma asks dryly, "She'd have to be be rather incompetent at her job if she didn't, wouldn't she?"

"We should explain, probably," Harry starts hesitantly.

"What? Is this Harry Styles actually wanting to answer a question?" Louis asks, corner of his mouth twisted up in amusement.

"You know, I thought you boys couldn't turn down the contract that easily," Jay says.

"They must have found a way," Harry's mother says.

"I mean." Harry steps out of the way of a couple of PAs pushing a cart through the hallway. "Not quite?"

"The contracts are all secret," Liam explains. "So we decided to pretend that we have more of a choice than we do."

"We turn it down in public, they'll either have to play along or come out and say they've got us trapped," Louis says.

"And they won't want to do that," Harry continues. "Probably. I mean, it won't exactly encourage people to audition for next year."

"Or they might just not say anything," Louis says. "Just hope we either trip up or people get bored of us before it gets suspicious we're not signed somewhere else."

"But you decided to take that chance anyway?" Jay says slowly.

Harry nods. "We decided to cut the strings off our own marionettes."

 

 

" _The winner of The X Factor 2010 is..._ " The view on the Xtra Factor studios' monitors flashes from Harry and the other boys in a tense group hug to an anxious Matt Cardle and then finally back to Dermot O'Leary. " _One Direction!_ "

The view of the boys grinning and hugging each other to the screams of the crowd transitions to Dermot with the microphone held out to them. 

" _It feels amazing, truly amazing,_ " Liam says. " _Thank you to all our fans and everyone who voted._ "

Harry says, " _Thank you so much for letting us make music for you._ "

" _Yes,_ " Louis says. " _Thank you to all of you. But we have to decline the prize._ "

The monitors fade to the sparkling X Factor logo. The live audience in the Xtra Factor studio cheers and claps.

The five of them are seated opposite Konnie on the sofa.

Konnie turns to where she's seated next to the five of them on the sofa. Her glossy lips are pursed, cheeks dimpled in a disbelieving smile. 

"Well, boys, this is certainly a first," she tells them.

"What? A group winning?" Harry asks. Louis' knee nudges at his back.

"Well, yes, that, too. Thank you, Harry, cheeky as always." She tucks her voluminous black hair behind an ear.

"Simon did keep saying that would be a first," Niall points out. He's seated next to Harry and the other three boys are perched on the back of the sofa behind them.

"But you know what I'm talking about!" Konnie laughs. "Who do I need to talk to to get a serious answer here?"

She looks up at Liam pointedly, but Liam says, "A serious answer? That would be Louis, I'd think."

"Louis?" She arches her eyebrows.

"Hmmm? Yes? Was there a question?" Louis asks.

"You know what the question is!" Konnie exclaims in amused exasperation.

Niall and Zayn and the audience are all laughing along with her. Harry twists around to look at Louis. He's still in the long-sleeve band tee and jeans from their second song, the artful spikes of his hair, the slant across his forehead, all carefully re-adjusted by Richard before they came back on.

Harry doesn't think about why Louis' hair had to be fixed, or about how Louis' crotch is right at his eye-level, because if he did, he'd have to think about what they had been doing a few minutes ago.

Instead Harry meets his eyes and Louis gives him a small smile. The tightness in his smile, wariness in his blue eyes, brings Harry back to the present.

This is not the easy part.

"Yeah, I do know what the question is," Louis says. "You want to know why we've turned down the prize we worked our ar—" He claps his hands over Harry's ears and fake-whispers. "Sorry, worked _very hard_ to win. Forgot about the under-eighteens in the room."

The crowd laughs and Harry shakes off Louis' hands as Konnie says, "Our live feed thanks you, Louis. But I think they'd thank you even _more_ for an explanation?"

"Well," Louis says. "The explanation is that we're really very grateful for each and every fan who put us on that stage tonight. That was our dream, being here, right now. Winning the X Factor. It's mad, isn't it? But they made it come true."

"But?" Konnie prompts.

Liam interrupts, "But it wasn't worth the cost." 

They had agreed to let Harry and Louis do the talking on this part, but that apparently didn't extend to listening to the two of them go on any longer without quite answering the question.

"The cost?" Konnie repeats.

Louis picks up the conversation again. "The cost being that me and Harry here would have to be in the closet."

"But you're not in the closet anymore," Konnie reminds them with a friendly smile. "You came out on this very programme last week, if I recall."

"Ah, you'd be surprised how hard that door was to get open, though," Louis says lightly.

"And keep open," Harry adds.

Louis squeezes his shoulder.

"That's what a lot of us don't understand," Konnie says. "Why was it so hard?"

"We're in a boyband," Harry says.

"I thought boybands were _supposed_ to have a gay one," Konnie says with a laugh.

"Two," Niall speaks up, holding up his fingers to laughter from Konnie and the audience.

"Even better," Konnie says. "So...?"

"You know, I do think our mentor had our best interests at heart," Louis continues. The other boys gape at Louis as he protests over the noise of the crowd, "I do. I really do."

"Clearly you had some disagreements, though," Konnie says.

"Well, not at the beginning," Louis says. His fingers tap distractedly over Harry's shoulder. Then he concedes, "Well, _somewhat_ at the beginning. But, look, alright. Imagine you're eighteen and new to all of this and this very powerful man tells you'll bring down the band if anyone knew you were gay."

Fuck. This is hard to Harry to hear out loud. Louis' tone is light with a false nonchalance, but Harry can hear the tension behind it. He knows this must be terrifying for him to talk about. 

There still a part of Harry waiting for someone to jump up and say, Yes, they were right, you have fucked everything up by being gay. Why couldn't you just keep that to yourself?

But no one's done that yet. Instead the audience is quiet. Konnie gives them a more sober, sympathetic look that Harry think might not be just for the sake of the cameras.

"You don't want to believe it," Louis continues. "But a part of you has to, innit? And if it wasn't for these guys—" He gestures to the other boys. "Finding out what was happening and saying, that's not all right, I reckon everything could've gone a lot differently."

Harry bites his lip.

Louis looks at the other boys, a softness in his eyes. "Gave us an ultimatum, they did. Said none of 'em wanted to be in the band if Harry and I couldn't be ourselves. Would've given up all of it for us, wouldn't they? Best boys I know."

Harry looks at the other boys. They're all looking up at Louis with rapt combinations of pride and surprise and sadness and happiness.

"They are," Harry agrees.

"So, yes, our mentor wanted us to succeed. I believe that," Louis says. "But we're going to do it on our own terms. As ourselves."

"And what's why you turned it down?" Konnie says.

"Yeah, had a talk, the five of us, just before we went on for the results."

Harry picks up from there, instinctually taking the opening to spin their story. "We could barely believe we'd made it so far, you know? But it was because we made it so far that we knew we had to turn it down."

"Why is that?" Konnie asks.

Louis squeezes Harry's shoulder again.

"We took it as a message from our fans," Harry says. "They told us in person, they told us on twitter. And then they told us by voting for us. And, yeah, what they said was that we could make it by being ourselves."

"So what are you going to do then?" Konnie asks.

"Well, we're not going anywhere," Louis says.

"We're not," Harry agrees.

"We're going to keep working hard and we're going to make music." Louis looks out at the crowd again. "We're going to make good music for you. I think you're all going to like what we can do."

"Well, I for one am definitely looking forward to that, then!" Konnie says. "Now, what's been the highlight of the series for you boys?"

 

 

And then they're back in an X Factor van on their way back to the house. Harry's bundled in Louis' lap, arm slung across his shoulder, and possibly a little bit tipsy from the champagne backstage.

Liam is the only one of them that didn't have anything at all to drink, with him still believing he only has one kidney. But he still seems as giddy as the others off of their win tonight.

He keeps saying he can't believe they won. Zayn laughs more and more every time he says it. And Niall keeps trying to interest them all in a drinking song.

"I love you all," Liam declares.

"I love you all, too." Harry grins as he reaches out to touch his shoulder.

Then Louis says something to Niall that makes him laugh. Which is fine, it's fine. But Harry is the one in Louis' lap and he should be the one getting his attention.

Then he hears an indignant, "Oi, did you just bite me?"

Harry looks up from where his teeth are buried — very gently — in the fabric of the shirt covering Louis' shoulder.

"No."

Louis draws back and narrows his eyes at him.

"You'd probably like it if I bit you somewhere else." Harry looks him up and down suggestively.

"I probably _wouldn't_."

Harry frowns at him for a moment, then remembers. "Lou, that was one time."

"Well, it was memorable."

"It was the turbulence." Harry pouts.

Niall cackles.

"Do I want to know?" Zayn asks.

"You really don't." Louis pinches Harry's side.

"Hey," Harry protests even as he snuggles closer to Louis. If he wiggles his bum over his lap a bit, he's sure Louis will just think it's just because of the bumpy ride. And if he slips his hand up under Louis' shirt—

Louis says in a low voice next to his ear, "Getting handsy, babe."

"I just like you," Harry protests. He dips his head down to kiss at the side of Louis' neck.

"Yeah?" Louis draws back again to look at him, rubbing his hand over his thigh. 

"You were so good, Lou," Harry murmurs. "So good, so brave. I can't believe you said all that."

"Harry—"

"I like you," Harry repeats.

Louis looks at him for a long moment, then says in a low voice, "I like you a little bit, too, darling."

Harry smiles at him and tugs him into a kiss in the backseat of the van.

 

 

They're still kissing when they make it to the bedroom. The kisses become hotter, more forceful. 

Without stopping their kisses, Harry pushes Louis' top up and over his head. Louis gets the the buttons of his jeans and they end up leaving a staggered mess of clothes on the floor and tumble naked into bed.

Louis tangles their fingers together and pushes Harry's hands back down onto the bed.

Harry's greedy and pliant and so ready to give Louis whatever he needs. And Louis so clearly needs something.

Without releasing Harry's hands, Louis moves down to his neck, sucking kisses, grazing his teeth down the sensitive skin. 

He's going to leave marks but Harry doesn't care at all as he ruts up against Louis' thigh.

"Lou, what do you need?" he asks.

Louis kisses the dip of his neck between his collarbones. "Whatever you want, anything."

But Harry can feel the tension in his body. He squeezes Louis' hands and slips his hands out from their grip to cups his face.

"Look at me," Harry tells him. "C'mere."

Louis pulls back and looks down at him, eyes a combination of guarded and aroused.

"What do you need, Lou?" Harry asks again. "What's wrong?"

Louis shakes his head.

"What is it?"

"No, H, everything's right," Louis says. "Nothing's wrong."

"Are you sure?" Harry asks.

"Everything's fine," Louis says. Then the fight leaves him and he's left looking vulnerable, bare shoulders slumping down. "Fuck, I just — the voices in my head, you know, love. Just wish they'd shut up for a moment."

"What are they saying?"

"You _know_ what they're saying," Louis says. "You know."

Harry looks at him for a long moment.

"I do know." He thinks about the vague unsettling feeling of guilt still settled in his chest, that even a tipsy combination of champagne and arousal can't completely push away. "I do."

Louis just looks at him, eyes still guarded.

Harry brushes his thumb over Louis' cheekbone. "Do you wish we hadn't? I mean, do you regret—"

"No," Louis says firmly. "Fuck, no." He pushes himself up, sitting back on the bed and rubs his eyes with his fingers. Harry sits up next to him.

"Lou—"

"I just need," Louis takes a deep breath, looking at him again. "Can we make the voices shut up for a minute?"

Harry offers him a small smile. "Yeah, Lou."

"What's the gayest sex possible?" Louis asks. "I want that."

Harry feels his smile widen. "I mean, I hope it's me you're planning on having it with. And any sex with me is going to be pretty gay, I think."

Louis shakes his head, giving him a fond look. "Alright, then. I want you to fuck me. Is that—"

"Yeah," Harry says. He touches Louis' neck, traces the bob of his Adam's apple and traces a line downward to his chest. "Yeah, of course, Lou."

"Sodomize me, then," Louis tugs him into a kiss.

"Not if you call it that." Harry runs a hand through the gelled spikes of Louis' hair.

"Don't like it?"

"Don't like how hot it sounds when you say it like that," Harry says. "It's just wrong."

Louis' lips turn up at the corner. "You saying you don't want to sodomize me?"

"Shut up, Louis," Harry complains but can't help a laugh. He leans back to grab lube from the nightstand drawer but he overbalances and starts to fall backwards.

Louis catches him before he tumbles off the bed. "Easy, darling, you alright?"

He leans over him and grabs a couple of packets from the drawer, handing them to Harry.

"We need more than that, where's the bottle?"

Louis looks at him incredulously and repeats, "'Need more than that.' Is this you pretending you're bigger than you are again?" 

But he still reaches over to the nightstand again and retrieves the Tesco bottle this time.

Harry nudges at his hip. "Roll over."

"Roll over?"

"Want to play with your arse."

"What if my arse doesn't want to be played with?" Louis asks petulantly. "Maybe it just wants to get fucked already."

Harry flashes him a grin and nudges at his hip again. "C'mon. It'd be pretty gay to let me lick you out."

Louis narrows his eyes at him then finally assents, "This is only for the sake of being gay," and lets Harry position him on his belly. 

Harry hums and says, "I know."

He runs a hand over the dip of Louis' lower back, down over the round curve of his bum. He bites his lip and squeezes, fingers digging into the muscle. His hands are big, but Louis' arse is bigger, and that is as amazing as always.

"Haz, yeah, like that, come on." Louis tries to pass Harry the bottle of lube, but Harry lets it drop to the bed in favor of sinking down and getting his mouth on him.

He kisses the plump curve of his arse and then squeezes one cheek in his hand while he sinks his teeth into the other.

Louis' breath hitches as Harry spreads his cheeks and gives his hole a tender kiss, and then licks a circle around it.

"Hazza," Louis groans out, arching further into his mouth.

"Yeah?" Harry blows cool air over the skin where he's been licking and he feels Louis shiver. 

He gives his hole another lick, and he's tempted just to stay there, take his time. If this was Louis at eighteen in front of him, he would. He would eat him out all night as he slowly, slowly urged him open.

But this is Louis at twenty-six and, by the insistent way he's arching into Harry's mouth, and the demanding way he's calling his name, Harry can tell he's getting impatient for more.

So he sits up and squeezes lube onto his fingers. As soon as he slides a finger inside, Louis pushes back up against him, making him sink in deeper.

Harry crooks his finger and thrusts inside. 

"Yeah, right there, Haz. Give me another already, come _on_."

Harry laughs a little, but he squeezes out more lube and dips two fingers back in. He's tight and warm and maybe Harry's also looking forward to getting his cock, rapidly getting hard again, into him.

He doesn't stop thrusting his fingers, but he settles down over Louis' thighs and bites his arse cheek.

"Fuck, what's it with you and biting tonight, H?" Louis says. "Abusive is what it is."

Harry gives his arse another little nip. "Missed the taste of you, Lou.Ready for another finger?"

"Ready for you to fuck me already," Louis protests.

Harry looks up at him. "Are you?"

" _Been_ ready," Louis insists. "You're the one taking so long."

So Harry draws back and pours more lube onto his hand, using it to slick up his cock. He spreads a hand over one of Louis' arse cheeks again and squeezes, spreading it apart enough to see his pink, slicked up hole.

He rubs his cock between his arsecheeks and then has to take a deep breath, trying to will his body to calm down. He's already come once tonight, but it was hours ago now and he probably should've rubbed one out while he got Louis ready because this is not going to last very long.

"You want it like this?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, fuck, just — get in." But as Harry shifts closer, nudging at his hole with the tip of his cock, Louis says, "No, stop, wanna ride you."

Harry's halts, mind suddenly filled with images of Louis sinking down onto him, taking him in all the way, slowly. Or watching his strong thighs flex with the effort, back arched, head thrown back, hard cock leaking for Harry to —

"Or like this." Louis twists around to look at him. "You want it like this?"

"No, I want," Harry clears his throat. "I really want you to ride me. Sorry. I was just picturing it."

"Picturing it?" Louis demands indignantly. "We could be doing it by now if you weren't so busy picturing it."

Harry can't help but laugh as Louis pushes him off and manhandles him back onto the bed.

Louis glares as he straddles Harry's hips. "Fucking menace you are. We don't have all night here." 

"Don't we?" Harry asks.

"Well, I might lose interest," Louis says petulantly, raising his chin.

"You were a lot more polite about it at eighteen, you know," Harry points out, giggling as he reaches down to steady his cock.

"Maybe because there was a lot less dithering about when _you_ were _sixteen_." Louis positions himself right over Harry's cock and without any hesitation, sinks down until Harry can feel the head of his cock slip through the slippery ringe of muscle.

"Fuck," Louis groans, bracing himself.

"Lou." Harry licks his lips, watching the sight of his cock slowly disappear as Louis sinks down onto it. It takes all of Harry's willpower to keep from thrusting upward.

Louis is going tortuously slow, though, for being so impatient, and his brow is creased.

Harry rubs a soothing hand over the curve of his belly. "Do we need more lube?" He doubts that, he feels like he could probably slip the rest of the way in with just a nudge. "Or, like, I could open you up more?"

"No, it's — it's good." Louis draws a ragged breath. "Just. Jesus Christ, baby, you're a lot."

" _You're_ a lot." Harry digs his fingers into Louis' thighs as Louis takes him further inside.

"Forgot how — how big you were, Jesus," Louis sinks slowly down. He inhales. "Fuck, thought you just looked so big because you're smaller everywhere else — fuck."

Then in one quick motion, he bottoms out with Harry's cock all the way inside him, hot and wet and so tight. Harry gasps, digging his fingers into Louis' thighs, tensing all his muscles to resist thrusting up into him.

"M'not small," Harry protests when he catches his breath.

"No, you sure fucking aren't." Louis rocks experimentally against him. "Used to be scared you'd be too big, you know."

"I know," Harry murmurs. He bites his lip as Louis pulls up and back down, a little more movement. "I know. But you like it, though."

"And god help us all," Louis says, short of breath. "Made me into a proper size queen, darling. Didn't you?"

"You always would've been, I think." Harry flashes a breathless grin up at him. Then he reaches behind Louis, between his arsecheeks, to run a finger over where his cock is stretching Louis' hole tight.

" _Harold_ ," Louis says, a impatient tone in his voice.

Harry grips Louis' hips, curves his thumbs over the jut of his hipbones. "M'just lucky I can accomodate."

"Then _accomodate_ already, jesus," Louis grits out. "You going to make me do all the work here?"

 

 

When the sweat cooling on their bodies starts to get too much in the chill of the room, Louis makes Harry move so he can adjust one of the duvets over them.

They're in the empty bedroom they claimed as their own the other night. Harry had felt a small pang of guilt over ditching the other boys but it's not like they'd miss them when they were sleeping. Plus, if the next few years are anything like they were last time, they'll have plenty of days and nights in far too close quarters on tour buses ahead of them.

Louis, apparently deeming them appropriately covered, settles back in next to him, props his head up on an elbow and looks down at Harry. The duvet starts to slip down his slender sholder. Harry tugs it back up to his neck.

Louis' eyes are soft, thoughtful, lips lips still kiss-bitten. Harry traces the delicate lines of his collarbones with his fingertips, then slides his hand down his body, under the covers, feeling over the dip of his waist, to rest on the soft curve of his arse. 

"Was that gay enough for you?" Harry asks him.

"Not sure, babe." Louis shifts in closer to him, pushing a thigh between Harry's legs, tangling them together. "Might have to go again."

"Yeah?" Harry hums and squeezes his bum gently. He lets his hand drift down between Louis' arse cheeks and runs the pads of his fingers over his hole.

Louis hisses.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asks.

"No," Louis says. Then concedes, "Stings a little."

Harry rubs a soothing hand over his arse and says, "It might hurt tomorrow."

"Might do." Louis' voice is soft, sated. He ducks his head down to rest on Harry's shoulder. Harry wraps his arm around Louis' torso and pulls them closer together, so they're pressed together, skin to skin.

"Love you so fucking much, Lou," Harry whispers.

 

 

 _First Place Goes to One Direction... No, Make That Matt Cardle!_ \- The Mirror, 13 Dec 2010

 _The final of The X Factor scored a record-breaking 21.6 million viewers on Sunday, making it the highest-rated non-sport TV programme in nearly nine years._ \- Telegraph, 13 Dec 2010

 _X Factor Boyband Wins, Gives Up Prize_ \- The Independent, 13 Dec 2010

 _The latest series of The X Factor was plagued by autotuning scandals, accusations of a so-called "fix", and concerns about Cowell's treatment of his boyband, all leading to a surprise twist at the end_ \- The Guardian, 13 Dec 2010

 _Bad luck for One Direction fans. If you didn't buy their winner's single already, it's too late. After Cowell's boyband renounced their big win, it was shortly taken off iTunes. The new X Factor hopeful for the Christmas number one is When We Collide from runner-up Matt Cardle._ \- Huffington Post, 13 Dec 2010

 _Who won The X Factor fashion war? Cheryl Cole vs Dannii Minogue: Which X Factor dress was best?_ \- The Sun, 13 Dec 2010

 _Simon Cowell insists The X Factor was not rigged. Weekly voting results to be released today._ \- Daily Mail, 13 Dec 2010

 _Rage Against The X Factor, which announced their support for the former winning act One Direction last week, is now promoting a four minute recording of pure silence for the Christmas number one._ \- Telegraph, 13 Dec 2010

 

 

"Hey, Li, will you take a picture of us?" Harry calls out when Liam walks past the mess of their One Direction bedroom. Harry stretches from where he's seated packing on the floor to hand him his phone.

"Alright?" Liam says, taking his phone skeptically. "I actually came to tell you about something online, though—"

Harry scoots closer to where Louis has been tossing haphazardly folded clothes — not all of which he's certain actually belong to him — into his bag.

Louis leans back into him and Harry wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on his shoulder.

Liam shoots one photo and shows it to Harry. 

"Now do a funny one, lad," Louis directs him.

The next one has Louis with his eyes crossed, Harry shooting a peace sign above his head.

For the next one, Louis grips Harry's forearms and, on Liam's cue, Harry presses a kiss to Louis' cheek.

"Er, what were those for?" Liam asks when he hands the phone back.

"For this." Harry opens Twitter to the tweet he'd found earlier and shows it to him.

"Oh, yeah, that was actually what I had come to tell you." Liam looks between the two of them. "Is it really you two?"

"Apparently," Louis says, raising his eyebrows at Harry. "Not that I remember it."

"Me either," Harry says. Liam frowns at him, probably remember how drunk he'd been coming home that night.

"So neither of you remember it but you still think it's you?" Liam asks.

"Well, it looks like us, and those are our clothes. And it's the same club we went to that night. Lou and I compared the interior with Yelp."

"You... did?" Liam looks taken aback.

"I mean, the print papers and the gossip blogs probably won't go to the trouble."

Louis finishes, "But if fans in 2010 are any bit as investigative as they are in the future, that's what they'll do."

"What does this have to do with these pictures?" Liam says, handing the phone back to Harry.

"So Simon leaked this, right?" Harry says. "And he did it for a reason—"

"Wait, why do you think Simon leaked it?" Liam interrupts. Then he answers his own question, "Wait. This is from that weekend. So this is the photo they said they had to buy off?"

"It has to be," Harry says. "He thought it would hurt us."

"One thing to say we're gay but photographic evidence of two boys snogging, that's another thing," Louis says. He takes Harry's phone and squints at it. " _Is_ that what we're doing in that photo?"

"I mean," Harry says. "It's a bad angle, but kind of looks like it?"

Louis shakes his head regretfully "Such a bad influence on me eighteen-year-old self, really."

"But a lot of our fans already think you're a couple." Liam sits down on his bed, where he has his own suitcase open and half-packed. "I mean, 'Larry' was even trending on twitter for a few hours this morning. Is this you, like... confirming it?"

"Well, yeah," Harry agrees. "I mean, without saying the words."

Louis pokes his side. "Why would we use actual words?"

"What?" Liam asks. "I think I'm a bit lost."

"It's to make it not an issue anymore," Louis says. "Take the scandal out of it."

"And so people will retweet these," Harry says. "Instead of the other one."

"Alright?" Liam says, still looking confused.

"Payno, thought this would be up your alley, lad," Louis says, not unkindly. "Right now people are interested in that photo because it shows two semi-famous lads snogging, yeah?"

"Right."

"But if enough people retweet it and start to think about it long enough—"

Liam interrupts. "Then they're going to start wondering what underage contestants are doing in a club whilst on X Factor."

"But now," Harry says, hitting send on his tweet. "They can retweet much nicer, much higher quality photos of us being two wholesome teenage boys who would never dream of doing whatever those two boys in that old photo are doing."

 

 

One Direction @onedirection 13 Dec 2010  
Packing up... http://twitpic.com/v2t2a74

One Direction @onedirection 13 Dec 2010  
We'll have new music for you soon, promise! x

> In reply to:  
> 1D fan @erewhile232 13 Dec 2010  
> How do we get Forever Young since they took it down :(

"Is that Modest?" Zayn asks when Liam's text tone dings.

They've all been waiting for some kind of news. Last time, after coming in third, Simon had taken them into his office and had them start signing contracts the very next day. They'd even been put up in a hotel room for a week to get everything sorted.

This time... they've heard nothing except for the notice that they need to pack up and take their stuff with them when they leave for the wrap party tonight, because the X Factor house is closing.

Only the five of them and Matt stayed here last night, anyways. Cher hadn't come back since she was voted off Saturday — she'd apparently been so sure she would be voted off that she had already packed — and Rebecca had stayed with her brother and children in their hotel.

Harry and the other boys can stay with their families tonight in their hotels — and Niall already has invitations from every one of the other boys' families to stay with them — but everyone except the Tomlinsons, who decided to take an extra day to appreciate London, are going back home tomorrow.

Liam says, cheeks reddening, "Er, not quite."

"Not quite?" Zayn repeats. "So that's not Pattie getting back to you?"

Liam ducks his head. "So you know I've still been texting with Danielle a bit. Um, she was invited to the party tonight."

"And wants to meet up with you?" Louis asks. "Get in, Payno."

Liam gives him a startled look. "You know who Danielle is?"

"... Yes?" Louis says, glancing at Harry.

"Why would you remember a dancer from The X Factor?" Niall asks with a laugh.

Harry shakes his head at Louis. Louis must understand because he lies, "Just because Liam was 'texting with her a bit', obviously."

"And not because she was around after X Factor?" Zayn asks suspiciously.

"Guys, we're not allowed to ask questions about the future, remember?" Liam says, cheeks still red.

"We're not allowed to ask _Harry_ questions about the future," Niall protests.

"They're not?" Louis asks. Harry shrugs and takes a sip of his water.

"You're the one who made the rule," Liam says.

"I... did?"

"After Zayn's granddad," Niall says. "You told us we weren't allowed to ask Harry things about the future or get upset with him if he doesn't tell us something."

"Because Harry could only change what he could've last time, so it might not make a difference if we knew," Zayn says quietly.

"And some of us just don't want to know," Niall says.

"Sounds like a fair rule," Louis decides. "We'll keep it."

"Anyways," Liam says. "Danielle lives in East London. She wants to know if I want to hang out later this week. What should I say?"

"We don't even know if we'll still be in London later this week." Niall attempts to shove one last sock in his bag, which is already straining at the zippers.

"But if we are—"

"Give it here, lad." Louis abandons his half-packed bag and plops down next to Liam on his bed, throwing an arm around his shoulder as he takes his phone.

"At least one of us is getting laid," Zayn grumbles. 

"Thought you _were_ getting laid, Malik," Louis says as he types. "That Belle Amie girl, what's her name—"

"Geneva," Zayn says. "And she won't even reply to my texts. Who knew being the flirt would make it harder to get laid."

"Well, I reckon Harry could've told you that," Louis passes Liam his phone back with a fluorish. "There you are, Payno."

Liam frowns down at his phone, reading whatever Louis just sent. "I didn't even know we could bring guests to the party tonight. Do you think she'll say yes?"

Liam's phone dings and Louis tells him, "What I think is she probably just did." 

 

 

 _X Factor Final 12 Celebrate One Direction's — Sorry, Matt Cardle's Win At Wrap Party_ \- Popsugar, 14 Dec 2010

 _In celebration of this year's X Factor winners, here are 10 of the most inspiring celebrity coming out stories_ \- Glamour UK, 14 Dec 2010

 _Zayn Malik and Belle Amie's Geneva Lane are in love!_ \- Sugarscape, 14 Dec 2010

 _...According to one fan: "If [Simon Cowell's boyband] One Direction really cared about their principles, they would have dropped out before the final. Instead they decided to throw a tantrum and make us waste all the money we spent voting for them."_ \- The Sun, 14 Dec 2010

 _If you thought the era of closeting boybanders was over, think again_ \- Toronto Star, 14 Dec 2010

 

 

It's Tuesday and the sun is starting to set and Regent Street is still lit up in fairy lights, the road crowded with Christmas shoppers.

"I want this, can I have it?" Fizzy asks, brandishing a box for them to see. 

"Sure—" Louis starts, but Harry pinches his arm before he can finish promising it to her.

"How about we put it on your Christmas list, Fizz?" Harry gently takes GoGo My Walkin' Pup and puts him back on the shelf. "Want to come watch the teddy bears?"

He leads her over to where the twins are gazing in rapt attention at an animatronic bears in the Christmas train.

Louis' mother had taken Lottie for clothes shopping, so Harry and Louis had volunteered to take the younger girls to the toy shop.

"Fucking weird to not be able to buy out the store," Louis tells him softly, bumping their shoulders together. "That was barely a hundred quid."

"If only you hadn't blown all your money on lube and a scented candle," Harry whispers back.

Louis makes a show of looking him up and down. "Not a terrible, investment, that."

Harry laughs. "At least in 2010 when you say you can't buy something for them, they'll believe it."

"True," Louis says. "Must say, though, not a fan of not even knowing where we're sleeping tonight."

Pattie had finally replied to Liam that morning back to them asking whether they should stay in London. But the answer had been 'hold on'. 

But, as if on cue, Harry's phone dings in his pocket. He pulls it out and reads Liam's text.

"We're actually sleeping in West Kensington, apparently." Harry holds up the phone for Louis to see the hotel information.

 

 

 _X Factor runners-up Rebecca Ferguson and Cher Lloyd join Matt Cardle in signing with Simon Cowell's label._ \- The Guardian, 15 Dec 2010

_In an Absolute Radio interview, Sir Elton John blasted The X Factor for attempting to keep two of the contestants in the closet. He said: "Before this I had concerns about The X Factor and its impact on music and young artists._

_"But with the revelations last week. You want to believe that it's 2010 and this sort of thing doesn't happen anymore. That's absolutely false. It happens. Everyone knows it happens. And we tell ourselves it's not about bigotry. It's just about what sells._

_"Now we have a reality talent programme taking teenaged contestants and not letting them sing until they learn to act more masculine. Millions of people watched this programme every week. What sort of example are we setting for the youth in this country?"_ \- Daily Star, 15 Dec 2010

 

 

It's Wednesday and the five of them are summoned to meet with a lawyer in South West London. They're shown to a cramped, empty office and then left by themselves to wait.

Harry doesn't recognize the building or the name of the lawyer, and neither does Louis. Harry has a sinking feeling — seconded by Liam's anxious questions — that this is them being sued for breach of their X Factor contract.

It's not as if Harry hasn't been sued before. Or, at least, One Direction has. They were huge. But he's never been directly involved. Usually, he never even found out it had happened until everything was taken care of.

He's drumming his fingers over Louis' knee when the door finally opens. It's Pattie and a woman whose name placard is on the desk in front of them.

"Er, what is this about?" Liam asks.

"Just need some signatures." The lawyer passes a stack of papers to Pattie, who begins passing them out. "I'm sure they went over it with you. Should only take a moment."

"Went over what with us?" Louis demands.

Harry looks down at his small packet of papers and lets out a relieved breath. He doesn't know exactly what a legal summons would look like, but probably wouldn't be have the title 'Memorandum of Association of One Direction LLC' at the top.

"Look, this is just a formality," she says. "It's so they can proceed with the rest of the negotiations."

"Negotiations?" Zayn asks.

"So we're not being sued?" Liam tries to clarify.

"What's One Direction LLC?" Niall squints at his papers.

"Negotiations for what?" Zayn says again.

The lawyer sighs. "Look, I can't speak to anything else going on, but they called me in on my morning off to push these through."

Pattie, when they look in her direction, holds up her hands and says, "I just do what they tell me to do."

"Isn't that the truth," Louis mutters. But he's already taking a pen from the lawyer's desk and paging through to scrawl his signature on the pages.

"Wait." Liam holds out his arm to block Louis just as he goes in to sign the third page. "Didn't we just talk about signing contracts without reading them?"

"I've read it." Louis tugs it out from under Liam's arm. "And it's not a contract, it's just a formality."

"Precisely," the lawyer tells them. 

She proceeds to guide them through the rest of them through the pages that Louis already signed and explains that they will all be co-directors eventually. "Which one of you is Louis..." She looks at her computer screen. "Louis Tomlinson?"

"That's me," Louis says.

"Birthdate 24 December 1991?" she says.

"Yes," Harry answers for him.

"And you're the only one over eighteen?"

Louis raises his eyebrows. "So it would seem."

"Right. Well, you'll be the one responsible for any official agreements for the moment. For the rest of you, we need each of you to sign your own paperwork but we'll have them couriered for your parents co-signature later today."

 

 

"What was that all about?" Zayn asks when they get back out to the pavement. It's not quite snowing again but it's still a chilly day in London. Harry shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

"She said negotiations...?" Liam says.

"No one wants to go to the trouble of making deals with us directly," Louis says. "They make deals with the band. That there—" He gestures at the office block they just walked out of. "That's just paperwork."

"But it could mean something," Niall latches onto the thought.

"Or it could mean nothing," Zayn says.

Louis stops walking. "And which one are you hoping for?"

"What? Me?" Zayn asks, turning around. He glances at the others.

"Yes, you." Louis crosses his arms.

"You're asking if I want us to have a future or not."

"I'm asking if you want to be part of that future," Louis says in a flat tone.

"Seriously?" Zayn demands.

Niall shoots Harry a wide-eyed worried look.

"Um, what—" Liam starts.

Louis raises his eyebrows and continues, "Because if you don't want a part of this, just go back up there, tear up those papers you just signed."

"What the bloody fuck," Zayn grinds out.

"I'm giving you a choice," Louis tells him. "If you're in this, pal, you're in it. You don't get to turn around five years from now and say that you never wanted it but no one ever gave you a choice. Because here it is. This is your choice."

Zayn fists his hands at his sides. "You know what, I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much but I'm getting the feeling you deserved it." 

"Zayn."

Zayn just flips him off and starts down the road at a clipped pace. Halfway down the road, he yells back, "And don't try to fucking follow me."

The boys all exchange looks, Niall and Liam looking particularly stricken.

Louis sighs. "I'll go after 'im."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Liam asks.

 

 

 _While One Direction might not have kept 'the X Factor' crown, Mullingar's Niall Horan has succeeded in capturing the hearts and minds of fans in his home town..._ \- Independent.ie, 15 Dec 2010

 _X Factor's Rebecca Ferguson Talks Rift With Cher Lloyd_ \- Now Magazine, 15 Dec 2010

 _One Direction's Zayn Malik has slept with twelve girls!_ \- The Sun, 15 Dec 2010

 

 

Harry looks up at the sound of the door opening.

"Did you find him, Lou?"

"Yeah, had a nice little chat," Louis says. He drops his coat, damp from the London drizzle, over a chair, toes off his shoes and then sinks down onto the bed next to where Harry has been scribbling down bits of remembered lyrics in his diary.

Harry draws his legs up onto the bed. "Did you tell him what happened, then?"

"What was I supposed to tell him?" Louis asks. "I still don't know what went so fucking wrong there. One day we're on a lads holiday to blow off some steam. Then next I know, everyone's saying he cheated on Pezza and he's gone. Maybe a few too many drugs, few too many drinks, who knows." He runs an agitated hand through his hair. "All I do know is I wake up in Thailand with a bloody nasty hangover to find that that lad's literally not on the same continent anymore. And then he just never takes a call from me again."

Harry nods. He knew all that. They'd known things were going wrong for a while with Zayn but none of them had ever figured out what happened.

"It's possible I could've approached that better today, though," Louis concedes with a wince. "I mean, I don't have any clue what happened, you don't know, and of course he's no older than seventeen here, _he_ doesn't know. Doesn't make for a very productive discussion, does it?"

"But you did talk?" Harry bites his lip.

Louis nods, leaning back on his elbows. "Yeah, we had a chat."

"So?" Harry asks. "Did you really think he meant it?"

"That he never wanted to be in the band? I think it's been well-established I don't have any fucking clue when it comes to that kid." Louis steals the pen from Harry's diary and spins it between his fingers. "But I do think he wants to be here now."

"I think so, too," Harry says.

Louis stills the pen in his hands and makes eye contact with Harry. "Do you think we could protect those lads this time?"

"Lou, you already protected us all so much last time."

Louis sighs. "Not well enough."

Harry wants to argue but knows a futile argument when he sees it. So instead he says, "I suppose we could at least tell Zayn not to fall in love with his PR relationships."

Louis huffs, "Or at least not to keep doing it over and over—"

"And over again?" Harry laughs.

Louis meets his eyes with a begrudging smile. "Tell Nialler, the sooner the better on those orthodontics."

Harry nods in sympathy. "Only going to hurt more the longer he waits."

"And advise Liam to invest in a spellchecker," Louis suggests.

 

 

 _According to new rumors, One Direction's abdication of their winner's title means they're off The X Factor tour._ \- Daily Mail, 16 Dec 2010

 _Auto-tuning, result fixes, over sexualisation of the performances, not to mention the mistreatment of Simon Cowell's own group, has left the show's reputation in tatters. Coming ahead of Cowell's American X Factor launch, the timing couldn't be worse._ \- Economic Voice, 16 Dec 2010

 

 

The days pass and they wait for news. The only positive sign from Modest seems to be that they keep paying for their hotel rooms.

Liam meets up with Danielle and Zayn ends up hooking up with Geneva again after all. Harry and Louis write down all the lyrics they can remember. Harry starts mining the scribbled notes in his diary for potential new songs. Niall drags Zayn on a tour of Buckingham Palace and comes back disappointed to not have met the Queen. 

Harry, who had learned to stay as far away from social media as possible these past few years, has posted more in the past week than he did in all of the last two years. They update their social media accounts many times a day, still going off their decision to pretend the world works the way they want it to, and hope that the rest will fall into place from there.

Simon doesn't seem to try as hard to ruin them with bad press as he could, and Louis points out that it may be less for lack of trying and more from papers being reluctant to go along with him when he was just caught bragging on tape about planting stories.

They talk about their options. They can't quite go the pubs and clubs route as a boyband. They could pool the paltry recording equipment Louis and Liam have in their teenaged rooms and do youtube covers. And in a few months they could try to find an independent label willing to take a chance on Simon Cowell's former boyband. If anyone is still interested in them by then, that is.

After weeks of the frenetic rush of X Factor, this week seems all the more ominously quiet.

But, even with the uncertainty, and with being a broke sixteen-year-old again, Harry can't bring himself to have regrets.

 

 

 _Matt Cardle defends himself against accusations of saying he'd have to take Viagra in order to 'perform' with Rihanna_ \- The Observer, 16 Dec 2010

 _Cher Lloyd: We reveal the scowling X Factor loser's nasty backstage name-calling_ \- Now Magazine, 16 Dec 2010

 

 

It's Thursday night and Harry gets a text from Nick asking for his Skype username.

When Harry asks why, all he gets for an answer is _don't be naked_.

"Do you think this counts as naked?" Harry asks as he types out a reply. He's on the bed between Louis and Liam. Niall and Zayn are sprawled on the floor. Love Actually is playing on the hotel TV.

"Yes," Louis says from where he's peering over his shoulder. "And if you press send on that flirty reply, I'm divorcing you, Harold."

"Fine." Harry hands him his phone and gets up to put on trackies and a t-shirt. He sets up his laptop on the small hotel room table and plugs it in because the battery is a bit worse for the wear.

It's not until Love Actually's boom box scene that a Skype call comes through. It's definitely not Nick's username, but Harry just shrugs and presses the button to accept the call anyways.

"Um," he says on seeing the unfamiliar man on-screen. "Hello?"

"Harry Styles?"

"Yes?" Harry makes a gesture to Liam to mute the TV.

He wonders if a fan accidentally got ahold of his handle. Though forty-five-year-old men isn't their typical fanbase. And then he hopes this isn't an interview because he's not prepared and there's also popcorn grease on his t-shirt. His old laptop webcam isn't that advanced, though, so maybe it won't be visible.

"Is that Louis with you there?" The man's accent is American. "You look different in glasses."

"Are you a friend of Nick's?" Harry asks curiously.

"Friend?" The man raises his eyebrows. "Sure, that sounds appropriately PG rated. Let's go with that."

Harry exchanges a puzzled look with Louis.

The man appears to be in an office but there's bright sunlight and — possibly palm trees? — in the background.

"No, they're not doing it for you," the man decides. "Stick with contacts. Does Carole know you wear glasses?"

"What are you on about, mate?" Louis asks.

"Who are you?" Niall asks, coming up beside Harry.

"Oh, good, you're all there. That makes this easier," the man says. Then he frowns. "That is all of you, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah?" Harry glances behind himself to see Liam and Zayn have gathered behind them, peering over their shoulders. "So, you know Nick and you know Carole?"

"Knew Carole from way back," the man says. "Spice Girl days."

"Right," Harry says slowly. "So, um, why are you calling us?"

"Or is it just to critique our fashion sense?" Louis asks.

"Look, even if five dollar Lenscrafter frames could, in some reality, be considered 'fashion'—" The man is interrupted by something off-screen. A moment later, he turns back to them. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"I have no bloody idea," Louis says.

"Louis' glasses," Zayn answers at the same time.

"That's right," the man says. "So. I hear you're gay."

Niall snorts.

"Me?" Zayn asks.

"No, not you," the man says. "Though three gay boys would certainly be more of a challenge. But as long as there's at least one of you for Seventeen Magazine to to airbrush abs onto, I suppose that's what matters."

"I'm not gay," Zayn clarifies.

The man nods. "Shame. Take you boys down to The Abbey and you'd do almost as well as Louis here. Better if he happened to be wearing those glasses."

"Alright, seriously, mate," Louis starts to complain.

"What's The Abbey?" Niall interrupts.

"It's a gay club," Harry tells him.

"And how exactly does a sixteen-year-old English boy know his West Hollywood gay clubs?" But before Harry can think up an excuse, the man continues, "No, I don't want to know the answer to that question, do I?"

He rubs his hand over his chin.

"Now, for the record, no one with half a brain thinks that video was an accident or that it just coincidentally happened to be hacked off your phones that same day," he says. "Not the most subtle of schemes, let's be honest. But I'll give you some credit. You could've taken it, gotten revenge, had your five minutes of reality show fame and been forgotten. But you didn't. You let people like Elton John do your dirty work."

Liam looks around at them and whispers, "Elton John's doing our dirty work?"

"Look, forget Elton." The man gestures impatiently on the screen. "There are bigger names than him going to bat for you this week."

"What?" Zayn asks.

"Now, I can't tell you who yet," the man says. "Insider information. But I'll give you a clue. Name starts with Lance, ends with Bass."

Harry exchanges a look with Louis.

"That's all I can say," he says. "Now, the amount of traction you're getting over here — where no one even knows what The X Factor is — is unprecedented. What I can't tell is if you just have some kind of uncanny beginner's luck or—" He laughs. "Well, there's really no second option, is there? Now, boys, just don't get too excited, I haven't said yes yet."

"Yes to what?" Harry asks.

"I do have to admit, you guys might be the real deal. You have the looks, you have the voices, you have the charm. Not too bad for five boys who randomly got put together. It might actually work."

Louis tilts his head. "We still have no idea what you're talking about, you know."

"They'll need to match what I've got going on now, of course," the man continues blithely. "Though the bragging rights might be worth ten percent off the top."

"Bragging rights?" Niall repeats.

"Don't tell them I said that," he says.

"Mate, I don't think we could if we tried," Louis says.

"Good. Now, what I really want to know is, what's with the spiders? Is that a British thing?"

"Um," Harry starts.

"You know what, never mind." He looks away from the camera and says, "Yes, yes, tell them not til next week." He turns back to the camera. "We're out of time, boys—"

"Wait," Liam says. "Who are you?"

The man frowns and then gives a name Harry doesn't recognize. After a long moment with no response from any of them, he sighs. "I'm kind of a big deal here in LA."

Harry exchanges a look with Louis, who looks like he's trying very hard to bite back a response to that.

"Look, free piece of advice. Whatever you do between now and whenever, just keep it clean."

"Clean?" Harry repeats.

"No, not just clean. _Squeaky_ clean," he says. "Westboro's going to picket you as soon as you step out of the airport over here. Let them be seen picketing two innocent, straight-laced young boys, you got it?"

"Okay?" Harry says at the same time as Niall asks, "What's Westboro?"

But the Skype call has already ended.

 

 

A moment later, Liam speaks up, tapping on his phone. "He's a public relations professional and co-founder of..." He trails off as he reads. "This says he's worked with some big celebs. You think he wants to work with us?"

"What I think is that Nick called in a favor," Harry says carefully.

"A favor from a former hookup who just happens to be a Hollywood publicist." Louis taps his fingers on the table. "How does Carole fit into it, though?"

Harry shakes his head. "He was talking like he was waiting for a job offer. Maybe Nick misrepresented the situation to him. It's Simon Jones who does Modest's PR."

"Simon who?" Niall asks.

"That's who Naveen works for," Harry says.

"Simon Jones does _Syco_ 's PR," Louis corrects thoughtfully.

"Oh," Harry says, meeting his eyes. "That's right."

"Open that one," Zayn says from where he's looking over Liam's shoulder at his phone. "Yeah, look at this quote."

Liam reads out loud: " _The world is changing. Mark my words, within the next ten years, there will be a big international boyband with a gay member who's out of the closet. It's just a race to see who gets there first._ "

"When is that from?" Harry asks.

"Um, 2001, looks like," Liam says.

"So he was wrong."

"Or, at least, he doesn't have much longer to be right," Louis says.

 

 

 _Is this the end of One Direction? Fans voice concerns as the three runners up have announced recording contracts but there has been no word from the X Factor winner._ \- The Sun, 17 Dec 2010

 _X Factor boybander Harry Styles has the Best Celebrity Hair of 2010, according to a new poll._ \- Express  & Star, 17 Dec 2010

 

 

It's Friday and Niall says, "Oh, there's my guitar."

Harry glances up from where he's sprawled on the floor with Niall's stolen guitar in his lap. "Sorry."

"Whatcha doing?" Niall asks, sitting down next to him. He looks down at Harry's diary sitting on the floor beside him, along with multiple loose scribbled on papers. "Are you writing songs?"

"Not quite," Louis says from the small table, pen still in his hand. "Writing down old lyrics while we still remember them."

"How many songs do you have?" Niall asks, looking astounded as he takes in all their scattered papers.

"I mean, most of them we can't use," Harry tells him before he can get too excited.

A boyband aimed at young teens can't get away with singing some of them, others have too many contributions from other people that they can't properly attribute. And some aren't as popular as they thought they should have been.

"Some we can, though," Louis tells Niall. "And the rest — we can write new songs, can't we?"

Harry meets his eyes and smiles.

"Have you guys heard anything back from Carole?" Niall asks. When Harry shakes his head, he says, "Or Nick? Or the PR guy? Or anyone?"

"No one," Harry tells him. And he knows that Liam hasn't heard anything from Modest, because he would have been banging down their door if he had.

"Alright," Niall says. "We just keep waiting, then?"

"Yeah," Harry says.

"They say we might be off the tour."

"It's all just rumors," Harry tries to reassure him. Though he's not so confident. Not having X Factor promotion keeping them in the public eye for the next few months will make everything that much harder.

"Right," Niall says, not sounding convinced. But then he brightens. "Hey, did we ever learn who Louis is?"

"Who I am?" Louis asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, Carole told the rest of us but she didn't get to you. All she said was you couldn't be the bad boy."

The thought of not knowing seems delightful with possibility. And maybe he could be himself this time. Maybe Harry didn't get to save Louis from all the hard years. But maybe this is something Harry can offer him: a whole new world to start over in.

 

 

 

 _X Factor winner's single expected to clinch Christmas number one this weekend_ \- Telegraph, 18 Dec 2010

 _X Factor runner-up Rebecca Ferguson goes house-hunting in Liverpool_ \- Now Magazine, 18 Dec 2010

 _X Factor's Wagner wows Hereford. One of the most talked about stars from this year's X Factor wowed a packed Hereford nightclub during the early hours of this morning._ \- Hereford Times, 18 Dec 2010

One Direction @onedirection  
Recent likes:  
lollygag @lollygag23 18 Dec 2010  
Compilation of 1D spider moments! https://youtu.be/6wst439zehVB

 

 

Harry and Louis are browsing through the catalogue of tattoo designs in a familiar shop they'd wandered into after meeting Nick for lunch.

Harry's thinking as he pages through the book. They could get the same tattoos again. They could get all new ones. The blankness of his skin is starting to feel more like potential than loss.

"Look." Louis points to a page. Harry peers over his shoulder.

"Oh," he says, feeling his lips part. "It's there. We could get them again."

" _I_ could get them again," Louis says haughtily. " _You_ would have to wait until you're eighteen."

Harry pouts at him. "You can't get tattoos before me."

Louis laughs. "I could."

"Not when you don't have any money."

"Could beg for me position at Toys 'R Us back."

"Just to spite me?"

"Yeah, love. Just to spite you."

"Hey, are you from that One Direction band," the man says. It's a familiar voice, though one Harry hasn't heard in several years.

"Yeah," Harry says.

"Louis and—" The man frowns. "Harry, is it?"

Louis looks a bit surprised that it's Harry whose name he doesn't remember and not him. Harry knows he's still not used to be one of the more recognizable faces in the band. 

"Yeah," Harry says. "I'm Harry."

The man scratches his jaw. "This is going to sound a bit mad, you know, but I think my wife was just hired to work with you guys."

"Oh, is that right?" Louis asks lightly. "What does she do?"

"She does hair," he says. "Lou Teasdale. She's brilliant."

"I can't wait," Harry says. His mind is drifting off, thinking about what it means that they've apparently hired her already, when his phone dings with a message from Liam.

"You boys see anything you like here?" the tattoo artist comes up to them.

"Yeah, yeah, definitely," Louis says as Harry texts Liam a reply. "Expect we'll be back."

As Louis holds the door for him, Harry's phone dings again. It's nothing more than a time and place for a meeting with Modest the next morning.

"Suppose we'll have to reschedule FIFA at James'," Louis says.

"I miss his old flat." Harry tucks his phone back into his coat pocket.

"The new place in LA was missing something, innit?"

"I mean, I get it. It's easy to buy a big house in LA and in the end..." Harry trails off as they hit the pavement outside. He tucks his scarf tighter around his neck. The sky is gray and it's getting chillier today.

"In the end?" Louis prompts.

Harry holds out his hand. "Look, it's snowing again."

Louis gives him a fond look.

"In the end," Harry finally continues as they walk towards their station. "It's just makes it more obvious when you can't fill the rooms."

"I wish you weren't lonely, Harry," Louis says.

"I wasn't — I mean, it's fine." Harry ducks his head, kicks at the pavement. He hardly has the right to complain.

And he wasn't unhappy. He was sad sometimes and still missing the band and always missing Louis so much, but his life wasn't bad. He got to do what he loved and how many people get that?

When he tells Louis that, Louis smiles and says, "And you were fucking brilliant at it, you know."

Harry stops walking. "Lou?"

Louis raises his eyebrows.

"Did you — did you watch my show? In New York? Were you there?"

Louis shakes his head slowly. "No. I saw photos. And some videos. But — no."

"Oh. Okay, right." Harry looks down. "Sorry, it was stupid to even—"

"I had tickets for the next night," Louis interrupts him.

Harry gapes at him. "Really?"

"Yeah," Louis says, offering him a small smile. "Was going t'be James' guest in his private box."

"But I didn't make it to the show," Harry says. "I woke up here instead..."

"Well, so did I, didn't I?"

 

 

 

It's Sunday and it's half ten when a Modest assistant brings them to the upper floor of office block.

The first thing they see is Henry Gomery's round, grinning face.

"Welcome, welcome! Glad you could make it." He steps out of the way to reveal a conference room with at least a dozen people, some familiar, some not.

At one end of the conference table, Carole gives them a happy thumbs up. Hilde gives them a quiet smile. Sandeep gives them a nod. A Lou Teasdale who doesn't know them yet gives them a friendly wave. A Paul Higgens who doesn't yet know they're destined to be the bane of his existence gives them a wide grin.

Behind the large conference table are a few assistants with their laptops out. And someone is arranging stacks of paperwork on a side table.

"Everyone," Henry says. "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce to you: Liam, Zayn, Niall, Harry and Louis."

"Hello," Harry says with a small wave, still taking in the room. The others echo him.

"Um, hi everyone," Liam says, eyes wide as the door shuts behind them. "Are we late?"

"Right on time, boys. Right on time. Please have a seat." Henry gestures at the large conference table. "Now, I'm sure you recognize some of these faces. You know Carole and Hilde, I believe. This is Lou Teasdale, she'll be your hair stylist."

Harry smiles at her, then exchanges a look with Louis, who looks at disbelieving as him.

"This is Paul, he'll be your tour manager," Henry says.

"Hello boys," he says, holding out his hand.

Harry greets a Paul who is slightly younger and slightly less stressed than Harry last remembers him being. He thinks of all the years of him trying to wrangle five unruly boys into behaving themselves.

"Very nice to meet you, mate." Louis' lips twitch as he obviously holds back a smile.

"We're going on tour after all?" Niall asks. "Is this for the X Factor tour?"

"Er, well, that's a bit of a touchy subject," Henry hedges. "But we'll get to that!" He turns to the next chair, where Sandeep is sitting. "And you know Sandeep, I believe."

"Quite well," Louis says dryly. "Thought you were working with Syco these days, though, pal."

"We had some differences of opinion," Sandeep tells them mildly. "I've been giving some thought to your first single. It's not finished yet but I have a song I think you might like."

Henry gestures at the man in the next seat. "And this is Christian, genius in the world of PR, let me tell you."

"I'm flattered. Good to see you boys in person. I really am very down-to-earth, though. So don't be too intimidated." Christian shakes their hands one by one. He gives Louis an approving nod when he gets to him. "And I was right about the contacts."

Henry turns back to them. "Christian took a personal interest in your situation."

"You're based in LA, though?" Liam says.

"I'll be setting up a few staff here." Christian taps out something on his phone as he talks. "But don't worry, you won't be stuck in a small town like London for long."

"Right," Harry says faintly. He exchanges looks with the other boys. They're all wide-eyed. Even Louis is looking stunned at the introductions unfolding.

Henry introduces the last person at the table. "And this here," he says with a fluorish. "Is Abby Taylor from A&R at RCA."

She gives them a crisp nod. "I can't stay long. But, boys, we have a very exciting opportunity for you."

 

 

"I don't understand," Liam says, looking bewildered. "I thought we couldn't even talk to anyone outside Syco for months."

Henry Gomery opens his mouth but in his period of hesitation, Christian jumps in.

"Boys, this is the entertainment industry," he says. "Right now, you've got girls around the world watching your performances on YouTube, you've got almost a million views on that last one, which is honestly insane. What was it—"

"Torn," Louis says. They have been keeping track, after all, and Torn is their most watched.

"Right. And some big names talking about you. But it doesn't matter. In three months, no one would've remembered your name." He turns to Henry, chastising, "Honestly, we've already wasted time. This all should've been in place a week ago."

Henry speaks again, looking like he's choosing his words carefully: "It just took some negotiation to—"

"To get Simon to release us from our contracts." Louis finishes. He looks from Henry to Christian to Abby and then exchanges a disbelieving look with Harry.

"That's it, isn't it?" Harry says, stunned. "We're not tied to Syco anymore. We're free."

"It's perhaps slightly more complicated than that and does involve you agreeing to this new plan. But Simon is..." Henry hesitates. "Perhaps not having the most excellent of weeks."

Abby laughs sharply. "That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"I don't understand." Zayn looks to Louis and Harry. "What's going on here?"

"Lads," Louis says, smile growing on his face. "I do believe we're being offered a recording contract."

"A very generous recording contract." Abby gestures to all the papers laid out on the side table, all ready for them.

"Congratulations, boys." Henry claps his hands together, jovial grin back on his face. "You're being signed to RCA."

"RCA," Liam repeats, looking at Louis and Harry again.

"You'll be joining the ranks of Olly Murs, Justin Timberlake, Miley Cyrus, Beyonce," Henry tells them.

"And that's just to name a few. I think you'll find we'll be a much better fit for you. We're here to support you and we want you to be yourselves." Abby looks meaningfully at Louis. "We would never resort to anything like what happened on the show."

And Harry knows for a fact that's not true.

Just like he knows that those contracts on the table are going to exploit them in every way they can, obligate them to exhausting years of back-to-back albums, touring with barely any breaks and ridiculous merchandise to promote.

But none of that matters. They can only change what they could have eight years ago. And they're out of the closet. They're away from Simon. And they're going to make it.

Louis looks back at him in disbelief and Harry knows he's thinking the same thing.

They still changed a lot.

 

 

"But how—?" Liam says.

"Look, short story," Abby says as her assistant begins to pass out the stacks of paperwork. "Syco's under Sony, we're under Sony, and Sony isn't all that interested in indulging Simon Cowell's whims just now." She looks like she's rather happy about that.

"I'm so proud of you boys," Carole says, grinning at them across the table.

"Now, it's not all good news, I'm afraid," Henry says. "The X Factor, well—"

"As you may have noticed, Cowell tends to have a bit of a scorched earth mentality, doesn't he," Abby interjects.

"They're spinning this by saying you cut all ties with them when you turned down the win," Christian interrupts. "No X Factor tour, no cross-promo."

"Okay?" Louis says.

Christian continues, "But, look, let's be real here. We're going to make you huge. This hurts them a lot more than it hurts you."

 

 

Abby and her assistant stay just long enough to make sure they have all the papers signed and then promise to keep in touch.

"So nice to meet you, you were all so brilliant on the show," Lou says as one of the Modest employees starts to set out lunch for them. "And I heard you met my fiance the other day at a tattoo shop."

"A tattoo shop?" Carole gives them a sharp look.

Christian looks up from his phone and demands, "Who got a tattoo?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "No one got a tattoo, mate."

"Good," Christian says. "Because, let me tell you, they are a bitch to cover up. Get papped once and that's it."

"So, no tattoos," Zayn says.

"Didn't anyone tell you? You're a boyband." Christian gives Henry a pointed look. "Who's been managing thse boys?" He turns back to Harry and the others and counts off on his fingers. "No tattoos, no sex, no alcohol, no drugs, no partying, no religion—"

"No unapproved haircuts or hair dye," Lou Teasdale says with a smile.

"And no homosexuality," Christian says, counting off his last finger. "But, well, breaking that rule is the whole point here, isn't it?"

"Er, quite." Henry shoots Louis a cautious look as if expecting some resistance. But Louis just rolls his eyes. "All the details about managing your images will be in your contracts. But I'm sure those image terms will be just a formality."

"Right," Louis repeats, glancing at Harry. "Just a formality."

"And maybe someday for those tattoos," Carole tells them.

 

 

 _X Factor runner-Up Matt Cardle stormed to the top of the charts and scooped the prized Christmas number one with his "winner's single" yesterday..._ \- The Mirror, 20 Dec 2010

 _One Direction, the boyband who caused an uproar when videos were released of their behind-the-scenes meetings with Simon Cowell, and who subsequently renounced their X Factor win, has been signed to RCA for a rumored seven million pound recording contract. Asked when their multitudes of teenaged fans can expect to hear new music from them, Louis Tomlinson, one of their five members, promises: "Soon. Very soon."_ \- The Guardian, 20 Dec 2010

 

 

"Hello," Harry tells the camera. "We're One Direction."

"And this is our video diary." Louis plops down on the sofa next to Harry, and then winks at Anna. "Sugarscape exclusive."

"Hiiiii!" The five of them all wave.

"Sorry we missed you for the final week of X Factor," Liam says. "There were some technical difficulties."

"Technical difficulties, alright, let's go with that." Louis wraps his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Want to catch us up on what's been going on, Nialler?"

"Sure," Niall says. Zayn rests an elbow on his shoulder. "So, today was a busy week for us..."

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is finished! THANK YOU to everyone who's read, commented, left kudos or supported me on tumblr. This absolutely wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you.
> 
> There will be a short epilogue-ish sequel. You can bookmark/subscribe to the series to know when it's posted or check the tumblr update tag.
> 
> [rebloggable fic post](https://rougeandtonic.tumblr.com/post/183435949203/one-more-time-again-now-complete)  
> [OMTA update tag](https://rougeandtonic.tumblr.com/tagged/one-more-time-again)  
> [OMTA meta tag](https://rougeandtonic.tumblr.com/tagged/omta-meta)  
> [references and thank yous](https://rougeandtonic.tumblr.com/post/184146464703/references-and-thank-yous-for-one-more-time-again)


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